It is not possible to jar the soul with coffee

But how I want to—up in the sky with you—

Closer to whatever

I can’t have, and with only a sip.

How easy it is to be a child

In a grown body.

**

I rowed far out on the lake at night

Though I couldn’t see—

Blind outside and in,

Water talking.

**

When I first read the poems of Tomas Transtromer

I too wanted to play Haydn on a piano

After a dark day of toy politics

But I saw quickly “the piano”

Was his horse, not mine.

**

For love be the string and the hand

Be the apple

Or what’s before a whisper

But never be ________.

**

Cotillions of empty, odd pairings of local wines

And a general absence of conversation.

Printed handbills announce silent auctions—

Half lives burn down in clay, sweetie,

**

There’s nothing like watching that sweet old donkey lean down for hay.