|Jul/Aug 2003 • Poetry|
Go be Kim Novak in Muir Woods,
I'll wait. I'll be Scottie, I'll be Jimmy Stewart.
Go be Kim Novak. Take the painting and sell it.
Don't see him. Dye your hair.
Go be Kim Novak. Choose a tree
in the middle of Muir Woods, marked by no one.
Close your eyes.
I'll stop. I'll count to ten.
Uncomplicated, our lives shone
clear as light in blue cups;
the sun pulled leaves from outside
through a window, onto the tea.
She poured, I sipped;
we warmed the air between us
invisibly—there was a fire—
and made light of the day's events.
And where had we seen smoke?
in the snow, by the gate,
by the window of her closet.
She thought a man should be writing there.
Restoration: Late Afternoon
Had a Sistine Chapel sky today, love, thought of you.
Clouds looked as if they'd just been dabbed on,
bleach stains, faded denim.
Jeep was melancholy,
interstate shushed from AM rain (falls
hard, you know; there's just no sleep
The radio was on
Cat Stevens up loud (I tried to, just
it's a wild world...
had a Sistine Chapel sky today, love, thought of you.