POEM FOR MY ONE LEGGED LOVER, THE WINE GLASS, NO. 26
A
Walk
Among fallen trees
Down an alley
After a storm.
The fancies of my inventive imagination
Are composed
Of the red marks
Put by the wrong answers
On arithmetic papers.
Even the incorrect answers
Are gone,
Have been washed away by inner rains,
Or inner tears.
No numbers remain,
Only the red marks
Signifying mistakes.
Only, blaring,
Shouting red marks.
POEM FOR MY ONE-LEGGED LOVER, THE WINE GLASS, NO. 27
I concentrated
My whole attention
On the tree stump.
I was trying to overcome
The natural state of human life,
Indifference to almost everything.
I put all else out my mind,
Concentrated
On this tree stump.
I saw that inside a hole
In the top
There was a green weed.
The weed was shaped
Like a butterfly, fluttered
With wings of green lightning.
POEM FOR MY ONE-LEGGED LOVER, THE WINE GLASSS, NO.
28
I gazed
down
Into an ashen-colored pond,
Saw
The gold twists of gold seaweed,
Quivering,
As their gold bodies were fanned
By the movements
Of rainbowed-tailed silver minnows
That flashed as the minnows swam.
I now complain unduly
Because the scene is absent,
But each complain is wonderful,
For each complain brings back
The feeling of love I had
When I looked down into this pond.
A POEM FOR MY ONE-LEGGED LOVER, THE WINE GLASS, NO.
29
Twilight,
The splashes of white on the sycamore bark
Could barely be seen,
The white guano sacks leaning against
The weather-silvered boards of the old barn
Could hardly be seen,
The green heron
Sitting atop a pine
That has losing its edges to darkness
Was starting to be outlined by moonlight,
But could barely be seen.
This moment is why I look backwards,
Not forward.
POEM FOR MY ONE-LEGGED LOVER, THE WINE GLASS, NO. 30
Wine, sometimes I hate
To think of anything but you.
When wine you occupy my body,
My mind is happy.
With you, I live the life of perfection.
But often, I become a weakling and wretched,
Turn my thoughts to something else..
I think of the clarity of the uplifted blonde leg
By the short, leaning imported palm,
Of chinaberries yellowed among the fallen green,
Of an Indigo Bunting with brown spots on its feathers
Swaying between barbs on a long fence.
Wine your wonders are so far beyond
Our limited human being grasps that
Your wonders cannot be analyzed.