In the Moment

Salt and fresh water
mix in the estuary,
ocean and rivers,

the clouds over all.
I came here at the end of
my life, so it seemed.

The clouds redouble
over the bay, luminous
and dark signs of life.

Cat Wang on Snow

Master lets me in
out of the snow, makes little
kissing noises. Cute.

I shake off fresh flakes.
He lacks curiosity
as to creation

out of nothing. Give
me the window seat; the snow
falls time out of time,

buries the garden.
I suppose his excuse is
another deadline.

That Walking Stick

Before I knew that
I loved you I made a walking
stick just for you. I

pulled it from some ditch—-
useless, crooked, and knobby,
but with sandpaper

and elbow grease, nights
of passionate oblivion,
it more than did the

job. Its gleam surprised
us both. Where does such beauty
come from if not love?

The Rest

A mild fall day, not
cold, not warm. The ocean breathes
in and out a few

miles away. Outside
the windows the trees shimmer;
I’m staying put. I

run my eyes over
a familiar pale page:
how well we have come

to know each other!
As for the rest, life’s secret
love provides, provides.


People stop me and
say, ‘You’re not from around here;
I recognize you.’

Our breaths mix in the
cold. Flesh speaks to flesh, but who
exactly? Words fail.

I go in. Coffee.
Dante at the old bookmark.
Flesh of words. Our flesh.

Cat Wang‘s Contentment

As I settle down
in my master’s lap, I let
heaviness take charge.

My hypnotic purr
grows louder. I’m into the
Way. My master sleeps.

He’s a good man and
apologizes when he
gets up to pee. I

say, ‘It’s nothing.’ And
when he comes back and kisses
the air, I’m silent.

Your Perfume (Thierry Mugler)

Having lost you for-
ever I am subject to ran-
don gusts of perfume.

I’ve always been o-
pen to radical others—-
Traherne’s endless sand.

But this is too much.
It was your scent on the wind,
double-edged Angel.