reoccurring

I keep thinking about trains

and the shawls over the women

who ride in them.

The steam rises through the fog

and the iron tracks below

chant a hymn of Exodus.

There are memories of the shtetl

the stone well in the heart of the village

the cool air rising from the deep to the surface.

There are murmurs over muted commotion

but the women's words are veiled

and I can't speak their language-

Not anymore.

The rhymes and rhythms of klezmorim

cannot leave and echo through dreams.

And if not for Jewish guilt,

a hungry ghost today.

planter

The humid air brings me down
to the soil over seeds,
six mounds across the garden,
shaped with infant hands,
the dirt still dark
from the waking
of its slumber.

With a spade
dug deep into the earth,
lines of ants
are led to lions' lairs,
marching a futile dirge,
feeding worlds larger than theirs.

A gust from above scatters them,
and some cling to me,
helpless.

As weeks fertilize
the fruits of labor,
the earth is worked,
and I will feel
the sweet nectar of harvest
as it falls from my lips
and travels down my neck.

And as the buzzard overhead watches,
the husk of the season
is laid bare,
its treasure full,
its spoil
reaped.

beach

The tide comes in,
waves against shore,
the rocks bearing down,
driving into shifting sand.

The seasons go,
waves against shore,
the rocks breakign down,
changing under driving pressure.

The air is thick,
the shore is clear,
between the crags,
nothing but shifting sand.

It took a lifetime
to change,
and we can't go back.

draoithe

The chill of early spring mist
caresses the great oak
and draws me to your branches,
reaching out,
out of reach.

Too dark to see
but for your love,
a waxing crescent,
it warms me
from my roots
to my scalp,
and I climb
to take my crown
of burning
lusty mistletoe.

My sickle,
golden,
a glimmer
in your eye.

The red stream
That spills
from the Galloways
fills my heart,
colors our lips,
and stains your white cloak
as my body
is emptied
of its poisons.

I drink from the bound horns,
we feast together,
and nothing will ever be barren again.

preta

Only a few words to you

Could I ever speak

The taste of the grain of your voice

A ghost

Miles away

Softly I'd dream of you

Would you come to mind

A touch of the feel of your hand

A ghost

Ages away

Sometime I'll write for you

Everything I felt

A look from your eyes to mine

A ghost

Long passed away

heights

Taking off from the capital,

The orphaned metropolis,

Slowly falling further

Under the wings,

Pressure rises

And heats the air to a boil.

The fading city outlined,

Colored and caged

Over the Potomac

By an early morning fog,

Dimly glowing,

Almost

Too faint to see.

Altitude dulls my senses

And I see you here,

And tell you what I'll be doing,

That soon I'll break that

First touch,

Leave no question of interest

In doubt,

End that deficit

Tonight,

Tell you how long

It's been,

And longer

Every hour,

And how long

It could last,

That soon we'll tell

Your brother,

Leave no question of doubt,

Uninteresting,

Having it

And eating it too.

The plane ends taxi

And desert warmth dials me down

To where there are no dark clouds,

But you'll be

None the wiser.

declaration

When I next see you,

I will part the Adriatic.

A caravan to your heart

I will send –

Years of wondering,

Weeks of knowing,

And momentarily,

Sudden action –

My trade.