Two Poems

                                                    Bed

                                      is our parenthesis of

                                      life lived by daylight

                                      in cars, at kitchen tables,

                                      at desks, in chairs and sub-

                                      ways, in bathtubs, on stepladders

                                      and toilets. On good August days

there are kayaks and canoes down wild Maine rivers. There are star-shot

lakes ringed by piney fragrances fused with unborn wines of blueblack

raspstraw-berries. On good April days there are jets to Spain, lunch in first-

class compartments on the fast train to Barcelona, red rioja with every

course. On good days there are Venezuelan beaches, Rockettes of flamingos

courting us, the February salt air humming in our nostrils. Always, wherever,

kind bed, you hold us tight in the clasp of sheets and comforters. We

                                      dream, curved in your night

                                      arms. We wake to your cozy

                                      crinkle, your welcoming groan,

                                      your greeting to first light, your

                                      reminder that today we have one

                                      more one last chance.

“for the silence and words have been of one texture, one piece.”

— Thomas R. Kelly,  The Gathered Meeting, 1940

                                                                    Before I landed

                                           music and silence were inseparable

                                                                space and I were married by the clouds

                                   the spoken word was danced                and

                                                             dancing                            was painted in the colors

                                               of never-seen and never-been.

                                                                  Sometimes

I catch an inkling of that daynight from the lemonade ghost-moon in

the timeless sky. Cool cool light, come to my open window. Remind

me of the once upon a time before life taught us about the end of it.