easy to believe
in God
easy
to doubt
hard
to believe
in God
hard
to doubt
Caduces
snake of body
snake of soul
slither off
to twist and turn
your dazzling helical dance
snake of body
snake of soul
twine upward
while the tom-tom thumps
a winding beat
City Song
The last time I saw
a sunset
houses were two feet tall
or I was
and the nightingale I thought of
as first cousin to a griffin
until I saw its picture
in a Giant Golden Book
of Arabian Nights in color
and in Webster's Unabridged
(under N)
and in the Yellow Pages
(under P for Pets
and F for Food for Cats).
Cold Facts
I cough, I sneeze, I
rasp, I wheeze
(this is an endless cold)
red nose, red eyes when I arise,
('twill last till I grow old).
Aches and chills, a million pills,
try any treatment sold;
nose drops, cough drops, nothing stops
the curse of an endless cold.
Then one bright day, hip-hip-hooray,
I rise as good as gold;
no sniffs, no drips, no peeling lips,
just the end of an endless cold.
To Face the Day
Sleep is the little
death
that surfaces each day
in the gray morning face,
the puffy eyes, their pouches
weighed down by unforgiving gravity,
the lips a down-curved replica
from tragedy's grim mask.
The bathroom mirror frames a zombie
waking to the quick splash of chill.
Color returns. Hidden fingers
yank tight the face's flesh.
The mouth's sad turn reverses
to a somewhat smile.
Light from a distant star
floods each freshly opened eye.
A sort of self returns
to the person in the mirror.
As day ticks down to noon,
the face, the self, the soul,
in time's slow way,
revives with each quick thought,
each spoken word, each smile.
