Sunday, December 25, 2011


A granddaughter. He hones the knowledge
of his end on the serious beauty.
This requires balance --
he is glad for the clarity,
happy as well that it came no sooner,
for all he pieced together
from the heart's years of confusion.


i will be absent for the next week or so

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

the only arts are music and loss

The only arts are music and loss


Theme and variation at the trees' edge,
singular waves lifting water and earth to the air
and the sun at peculiar angles that only crows know
or twilight crumbling from their branches --

I love a woman who will die,
not soon, please, but for sure.
I hide her death in my pocket
like a jackknife or songbird,

because she is a wave lifting earth and water,
an energy, a clean curve in time
more beautiful even than her body, the gorgeous debris
she carries for a while in the air. We saw the trees,

the breaks in cloud cover
that played afternoon light over the fields
like the danger of fingertips on a back,
on a lover's pulse. That night she cried,

knowing the impossibility
of keeping each tree in mind, each note shining on the trunks.
How beautiful our loss then, crest and breaking,
that beauty we would not choose.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

hearts in paris, july 2011

Basilique du Sacré-Cœur, night

in a station of the métro

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Monday, December 5, 2011

Friday, December 2, 2011

bridge (2)

pentru cea care visează pe podul

Thursday, December 1, 2011