HER UNHEARD THIRD VERSE
Seeks to explain why a raven
and a writing desk are so alike
or the heart may still haiku
what it hasn’t counted and
as best I can now recollect
the verbs sometimes dervished
into an irrational anthem where
waves lap before a key change
and I am wandering some beach—
which we all know I would never do—
at first it’s mostly aromatic
and then almost an intuition
like a penecostal saxophone
coasting into the unseen.
THE DELTA BETWEEN A AND E
No matter how much
one may scrub each day
to belie the twin scarlet
prints of the Beloved,
don’t you sometimes kneel
to renounce birdsong
for the tinkle of earrings
and the sway of bracelets
or deny first flush Darjeeling
for a slim jagged glimpse
of the jaguar’s overbite
as it crouches to prey?
Is the sky blue because
that isn’t its true color?
