Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Spread Out the Maps on the Hood of the Gun Truck

--For Daniel Todd

I got home three days ago.
I spent a day
stowing my uniforms and gear.
I spent the next day
rearranging the furniture,
finding avenues of approach and egress.

Today I walked my property line
three times. The sun was bright,
and I couldn't find my eye protection.
I gathered a pile of dead-fall limbs,
which I'll take care of tomorrow.

I stood on the hill behind the house
and surveyed the leaf clutter
and twig litter on the roof.
I stood on the hill behind the house
and took my first sip of whiskey.

My dog Blue has forgotten how to fetch.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

What I Share with You


Last night, I caught my last hour in Iraq.

I wrapped it in a black burka

and stuffed it in my rucksack,

next to a copy of A Farewell to Arms.


When I get home, I'll go in the kitchen

and place that beating hour on a cutting board,

put an edge on my cook’s knife,

and slice that bleeding hour in two.


I’ll grill the halves with olive oil,

red skin potatoes, Michigan asparagus, and a pinch of salt.


We’ll share a bottle of valpolicella on the patio.




Friday, March 12, 2010

The Diamond Tree

Though I can't see the future

Another Word

You are the only answer.
The only answer
to a question
I keep asking.

I keep asking
who will be there.
Who will be there
for me
twenty years from now?

Yes. Another word.
Twenty years from now,
you are the only answer.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Lucky Number, Lucky Life

The morning of her birthday,
she sang the 13 songs of the Aurora Borealis,
her voice more subtle
than the 13 petals of the corn marigold,
more secret
than the 13th constellation of the Zodiac.

Still in her nightgown,
she danced the 13th waltz of spring,
her bare feet bathed in dew-wet grass.

The morning of her birthday,
the setting moon and the rising sun
paused in the sky,
and night and day held their breath
for 13 seconds,
long enough to hold back time
for just a little bit.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

I Dreamed You

I dreamed you in your black concert dress,
standing on the shore of the Tigris River
with your violin.

You played the immaculate motive of crows,
the exquisite lust of desert rain.

The ten sisters of dawn
and a mute troubadour
sang for you.

I was dancing with three moonstruck sheep dogs.

The sun shouldered the eastern horizon,
but the stars refused to fade.