Corona Haiku XI

Calling hospitals
Until she found him and talked:
Agonizing farewell.

Gilgamesh

Startled in the pre-dawn light
I awoke in time to see
My thoughts, my dreams,
Rush up the bedroom walls,
Leap in the quiet air
Through the windowpane
To God knows where.

The ceiling did not replenish dreams,
Not the closet, not the couch.
But the bookshelf held out hope.
In the gloom was tossed a rope.
To pull me from my bed
That grew or shrank
With the weight of joy, sadness,
Dread and madness.

At the other end of the rope
Gilgamesh stood and spoke:
Do not pine after dreams
Of storms and bulls and
Birds that breathe fire.
You have not lost your Enkidu,
Your innermost desire.
Your wildness sleeps
Without need of rest or dreams.

The good life is not lived
Building walls, fortifications
To keep your beloved safe and true.
Immortality is not given you,
Neither youth nor vitality
Outlast the adventure.
The monster in the mountain
Must be slain, though it bring
The rage of gods, the winds of war.
From unknown lands your dreams will spring.

Hourglass

I grow tired
And the hour is getting late;
The time withers for youthful dreams
I hoped would make life great –

Too late to scale the highest peaks

Or swim the widest channel
Or other wondrous feats;
Too late to take a child in hand,
Raise a fine woman or a man.

If still left to me were one hundred years
I still would not find the courage or time
To conquer my fears -

Still the manuscript would lay in tatters,
Still I’d dwell on what doesn’t matter,
Still the trip to that distant land
Would be just talk with a drink in hand.

And as I drain my glass with somber face
In a clean, well-lighted place,
I know my love tonight will not appear.
Perhaps, if time should still remain,
I will find you here, this time, next year.

Walking

I can't say your name.
Because I don't know you.
Wherever you are.

Did you think
That you would find me
One day,
I wonder sometimes

When I wander
In this city or the next,
With the sidewalks branching
Right and left.

The stretches of time:
Sometimes I notice the years.
But mostly the seasons.

Still, I never know who I will meet
Around the bend in the street.

Petals

Here today,
Gone tomorrow.
Heart to lend,
Love to borrow.

Blossoms of new promise
The winds scatter in sorrow.
But always there is solace
In the sunrise that will follow.

Orbit

Traveling just so far,

And just so fast,

At just such an angle,

Our planet and its star

Form a cosmic tangle. 

And for that, in the world below,

The skies turn gray,

And the snow piles on the ground,

And bare trees glisten in the winter rain.  

The wildest chance ensnares

Two bodies in a steady orbit;

Beyond the reach of mortal cares

Strange forces bind them round. 

Ice puddles in the snowy ground

Form in tracks of travelers,

Their movements slow

Across a distance,

In the night without a sound.  

Your name turns round my mind

But still I cannot find

In the winter sky your star.

Though once we walked together,

No orbit lasts forever:

My door in vain stays open

For boots that wandered far. 

Dance

Muscles ask no permission
but show you the way
as you sway,
this way and that way,
across fields of worry,
oceans of pain,
mountains of sorrow.

Tomorrow
the dying world
rises around and above.
But tonight there only the love
that raises the walls
and calls all to know,
amidst the lights of the show,
the joy within.

 

Moon Clouds

Summer moon,

Your face blurred behind clouds

That move with a soft white glow,

Your quiet splendor lost

On the faces below.  

Embroiled in the heat of revelry,

The abandon of night,

The exhaustion of forgetting

What could have been,

What might -  

Souls turn to one another

With eyes that barely speak,

Worn by intoxication

Of sound, and light, and drink.  

The mind can barely think.

The nose has lost its sense.

But the mouth moves

In the hopeful present tense: 

You are beautiful, the most beautiful.  

Let us love tonight 

And escape the sight  

Of our memories.  

Summer moon,

Time is late to feel regret.

Don’t look upon my yearning.

Better yet that you should set

And make my shadow die.

 

Love and Power

The love of power is not cognizable.
Love knows nothing of power.
And power cares nothing for love.

Confounding fool and sage alike,
Avarice wears a cloak of love,
Seizing power like a cunning raven,
In the guise of a tender dove.

The beloved king will not disown his crown.

In time the tyrant,
So mad with power -
It will take the love of martyrs
To bring his kingdom down.

The Inn

Walking I reach the shore and I stare at the evening sea,
with the waves moving to and fro, and I sense, once again,
that I've nowhere to go.

But still I must go.

There is no room at the inn.
So I will try another, and another, and another still.
Perhaps one night I will find a welcome sign
and a warm glow through a window.

Here I stand at the end of the year
with a story that nobody wants to hear.
It is that all things move:
the stars in the sky, the waves in the sea,
and the love for you that spins within me.

Nobody wants to hear how the going
makes life so dear:
from the womb to the grave,
through cheerful days,
and fretful days
and loss.

The road is long for me, for you, for us all.
We remember, we forget, we remember again,
but not all.
If you should think of me,
remember that I go on,
from doorstep to doorstep.
Until I should reach another sea
the going is all there is for me.

Traveler

I love you more
than you will ever know,
than I could ever show -
far deeper than the ocean
in the moon glow.

 

But every word I utter 

brings you just grief.
So our time in the world
was fleeting and brief.

 

Alone I have left you
with peace in your mind.
Alone I shall wander,
searching to find

a face in the world
to match you.

 

There is a love that for you
the years hold in store.
But my path, traveled far,
ends in a cold, distant shore.
Here I stare at the stars
and shout til I'm hoarse - 

but the heavens show no remorse.

Northern Valentine

The world is frozen
On a northern Valentine’s Day.
The clouds have broken:
Moonlight on lovers gone astray.
They carry tokens,
Yet passion’s warmth has blown away.

The world can lend no aid.
Small creatures dream
In the burrows they have made;
Tree branches gleam
In the wind and give no shade;
And the sun’s pale beams
Offer warmth that quickly fades.

In the cold noontime at the park,
The young man awaits his lover,
Guarding dreams against the dark,
With frozen chocolates and flowers.

He will wait another hour.
Such is its power -
That love will almost never die
Underneath a winter sky.

Love American Style

First we have to negotiate the sexism.
Then we have to negotiate the racism,
Then the homophobia.

We negotiate God
And the places of worship,
Selecting a God for the children.
And then we buy the matching outfits.

We forget about politics.
Maybe we remember
After the drinks, theater, dinner,
airline tickets, and the rest.

We forget about death, too.
But there's no time to remember
After the condoms, abuse, lawsuit,
Abortion, and the rest.

I remember you standing,
Before all the negotiations,
In the bookstore smiling,
And felt those queer sensations
When we said we'd write a new chapter
In the travel book you were holding.

Toothbrush

In the dead of winter,
Time to change my toothbrush.
In the garish supermarket light,
The colors of the brushes chatter,

And the clatter of voices, pressed tight,
In the detergent isle burst in bright
Laughter, passing, white.

Pick a brush, any one.
You're not getting any younger.
The clock has nearly gone.
And the line is getting longer.

In the bathroom mirror, my skin too white;
The toothbrush, pale blue in its package,
I stow from sight - a guest might stay one night
And need a toothbrush.

Laughter again, this time mine.
Deep in the mirror lies the wreckage,
A graveyard of brushes scattered like mines.

No one will brave that terrain.
Before I see a new house guest
I'll change my toothbrush again.

Lost

We go on, we go on,
From darkness until dawn,
For an hour or two of bliss.
And is there more than this?

At last our eyes we close
And into dreams we doze:
The arms of the lover
That nobody knows.

We go on, we go on,
Until again we wake,
When to the road we take,
Past the refuse and debris,
Of the love we failed to see.

Moonwater

On the paths that you may take,
With no choices left to make,
You can always get water from the moon.
So said a father to his son
On a sunny afternoon
In the childhood day of life.

The years brought strife,
And paths to take,
And choices to make.
But still the skies refrained from rain
On the nights the moon hung bright.

Then the son turned man, one evening as he ran,
Turned a corner in the night
And the path became an alley,
A darkened, rustling end.

The rustling in the darkness
Made a sound, a weighing sadness:
You are alone,
Though still surrounded.
Your life is mean,
By lies all bounded.
You are the prey
By demons hounded.

And though the women come and go in the room,
Sipping softly, talking low,
Beneath the candelabra moon,
You cannot move, you are not seen,
Your life a demon’s passing dream.

There is water on the moon, said the son turned man.
This he repeated, like a prayer, like a talisman in sand.
Down fell the water from the moon
Like the rain of glassy night
That washed the sadness from the land.

Not far from the dead end alley,
Where the lamps had pierced the dark,
Lay a quiet, leafy park.
There a fountain played its music
While the birds slept on the branches,
With the water from the moon
Falling lightly on the benches.

And the son turned man that night
Beheld an extraordinary sight:
Figures on the benches sprang
From the bright moonwater rain.
To him they beckoned,
Sit and talk a while with us,
While in the night the fountain sang.

These are the people of the world:
Reading their papers,
Watching the birds,
Some appear dapper,
And others absurd.

In them all moonwaters run,
So the son turned man had learned.
In them all his father’s love,
Like the shining moon,
Had burned.

New Year's Eve

December is the cruelest month
When the old folks, impatient
For their children's plane to land,
Wrap themselves in cloaks of memories
And sink into the dead land;

When I examine my intentions
By the weakened winter light -
What was a January hope
In the embers fades from sight.

What I could have done
But I never did,
As the year has come to end,
I carry to the new year still
Like a sack with my back bent.

But it is true, that we two
Did walk that summer night.
Hand in hand, we took our stand
Against time's relentless might.

For you and I gazed at the sky,
At the twinkling light of dead stars,
We our hallowed moment vowed to keep
Bright like our beating young hearts.

Though you have gone
At year's cold end,
The memories I take with me.
Into the future new hopes I send
That you may yet await me.

Last Letter

I shall not write again.
For you turned out in the end
To be far from any friend
Whose hand he’d fairly lend,
My hurts and slights to mend.

But, instead, like all cruel men,
Who into open hearts they wend
By smiles and words that blend
Messages and acts that send
A naïve soul round the bend

Into the garden of love run foul with briars –
You stood revealed, a hissing liar.

Your kissing desires, surpassing sweet,
In a moment expire, and abandon
My soul to the wind in the street.

No more wasteful ink to spill,
No more grieving heart to bleed;
For any word you seek from me
You shall have the stars to read.

The Stranger

Blind, brutal sex with the stranger –
It pleases the body
But not the soul.

Quietly,
In the darkness of the midnight bed,
The soul cries itself to sleep;
It is the sleep of the little death
That comes with the dream of remembering.

Yet soon enough,
Oh, soon enough,
Comes the hour of forgetting
With the rising of the sun.

Soon enough
It is another clear, mirror day
When nobody sees and nobody stares
At the hole in the soul
Carelessly placed there
By the sighs of the stranger.

Dessert

I was born into a trap,
Not of my making,
From which there is no escape –

Centuries of ancestors
Threw their wiles into the fires,
Their passion, their power,
Their mad ambitions,
And their terrible beauty,

To forge this cunning cage.

There is no point to rage
Against these bars I cannot bend,
This lock I cannot open:
No escape until the end.

How you – and the world – stare
At this prisoner on a stage,
At these sinews under tight, smooth skin,
At these dark eyes that draw you into sin,
At these full lips that

Hide the tongues of fire
Within the steel trap of a smile.

I want to explain the origin of the universe to you;
I want to shout the intelligence of generations –
How is this and that and why not now or then
But perhaps one day somewhere.

And all this to save you from your own traps, and
The millions of traps that walk the cities of this world
With stealthy strides and hide in plain sight and
In the corners of the night.

But these full lips you simply bite
In the last dark hour, as I pour out my power,
Robbing you of sight and hearing;
From me no explanation – just a moan, searing –
Our cold sweat sealing
The doom of the prophets who died in the deserts.