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late afternoon
bright sun strong wind
I'm thinking of King Wen
and the Duke of Chou
writing down
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and dreaming
of an afternoon
after the hail fell
from dark charcoal
and bright sun before night
fell from
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it's always here that I end up
that same place where I start
the quiet builds
snow falls on the window sill
the small rectangle
of reflected light
on the ceiling
following with the mind
my own breath
the disturbed
settles again
snowy foot prints
fade under the street lights
scraping metal
pushed across blacktop
from a distance
tracked
as it approaches and drifts away
her shoulder
rises and falls
next to me as she sleeps
telephone & power lines
arc after arc
in a long chain
black under a layer of white
connecting us all
silent in our beds
snow
follows the cold breeze
down from Ontario
it wasn't planned
this silence
is what happens
in between
the plow gone
for now the empty street
stretches up the hill
Even as he died At 74
He didnt have a last wish
A last thought
Only a last image
A brown breast
It was all
It was
The only
Thing
It was not the breast
Of his mother
Pasty white
It was not the breast
Of a lover
Or first girl friend
Small
and smooth
But that of a nanny
He never had a nanny
But he saw one once in the park
When he was seven
She was Polynesian
But all he knew
Was her breast
Was dark
He saw her bend down
To pick up a childs toys
Saw the top of her breast
And wanted it
He wanted it
Then
And never stopped
Scent of spring in January
as the burn of carpel tunnel
stings the right inner palm
walk back home
take four ibuprofen with a double
nine year old Kentucky bourbon
Warm evening under streetlights
in upstate Ontario coast town
grass edged with mud
rain falling mistily
as suburbanites walk their dogs
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