Passing Wood (Somewhere in Ithaca, NY)

Somewhere in these woods, there is a glade
full of rusty retired cars. The paths are too narrow,
kept hostage by sky reaching cedars and short shrubs
so I know these cars weren’t driven there. The forest
grew around those relics. Not a tree bumps a bumper
and no grass grows taller than the rims. The forest
is kept at bay by those watchful headlights, dim
but not dumb. The woods will never encroach.
No branch will reach in through the window
and tune the radio with its cold arms.
Nor will the thorny bushes poke its fingers
around the backseat searching for keys.
And the old matches will stay unmoved.
The still wet and useless but undisturbed.
And the engine will rot but never be replaced.

Cars are called she. I don’t know why.
I know that she is lost. But she is okay,
content with calling the grove home,
as long as it respects her. As long as
it does not seek to uproot her.
She will be happy and grow older here.
And she will greet every lost boy who finds
her just the same way. He will see those headlights
and swear by all things good that they shined.

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Between First Avenue and Bedford

I’ve been riding this train
for a very long time now,
much longer than the woman
who just got on. While all stand clear,
the doors close, and we
are locked in this silver eel together.
It is two minutes beneath the East
River until the next stop and I feel
the pressure pounding, my ears popping,
and her eyes perusing the train
as if it is her first time. She has goldfish eyes.
They are wide and forgetful eyes. 
Dark and beautifully unforgettable eyes.
This journey will always be new for her.
I think of talking to her, ask her what
book she’s reading. But all my thought
drift upward like hot air, and seep through
the cement and cement to drown, unheard,
in the East River.

As the train arrives at Bedford Avenue,
I am tired and the train lulls me to sleep.
My eye close like a camera lens,
but no photo for memory is saved.
When I wake up, she is gone. But,
I know tomorrow she’ll be back with those
glassy refreshing eyes. God’s most beautiful
anointment, those youthful Goldfish eyes.

Seeing Bees

I see them swarming and skinning
one another with yellow sandpaper bodies;
they are like gnats, but bigger and more
beautiful. They hum, and murmur
and speak in little voices in the meadows,
perch on sunflowers and hold sweet nectar,
and sing the coming of spring. And with legs
planting themselves like lovers’ fingers around my arm,
she lands on me. She grazes on me, searching
for what she might make sweet. She leaves me,
empty-handed. I ponder where she sleeps now,
what cause she serves. And her beauty, quiet words.
But I remember how they swarm back to the hive,
it’s just a trip outside, to let her knows she’s alive.

Slow Dance

Love, as I have said time and time again, is far too complicated. It’s hard to explain. But heartbreak, that is so much easier to voice. When your stomach turns at the mention of the others name. Always having those moments when your arm is stretched out over the table reaching for something that will not be there. And then you have that dryness in your mouth, just when you think about the good times. Heartbreak is so easy, but when two people bond over heartbreak, it once again becomes more complicated. Here’s the poem:

Two figures, dancing in the dark

Swaying and swinging to the tune

Of so many broken hearts.

They are not more than you and I

Just simply two humans connected,

Seeing almost eye to eye.

They do not see hips and thighs,

They see minds and blue skies,

And they speak stories from a heart

Far too wise.


They hear a wailing harp,

Struggling to make dreams real

But they just swing, dancing to their hearts

Any way they feel.

Chasing The Sun

I find it amazing how time works. Every day as the sun rises for me, it is stolen from millions of other people and vice versa. But what if I followed the sun? What if I never fell victim to the darkness of night? What would life be like?

If the sun sets 

Which we both know it will
Let’s follow its light 

Over horizons and hills

The sun will not set on our eyes 

If our eyes set on the sun

Chasing the sun gives rise

To new worlds begun.

 

And if it slips away

Which we both know it must

Just let it go gently 

As it sinks into the dust

But it will rise again 

Our deadly lustful friend 

A woman disappeared in night

Is with someone new, until it ends