The poet, who draws inspiration
from the beauty of living
in the natural, tactile world,
lies alone in bed after dinner
and a walk beneath the stars
with the poetess, and begins,
– a poet’s imperative! –
imagining the landscape
of her body, but stops
at the simple gold cross,
an arrow pointing the way
to the line where her breasts meet,
and he realizes it would surely
take an almightly god
to forgive his sins.
what the hell
am i doin
here watchin
the cat
reach for
the fly
in the lamp
shade buz
zing laze
ily like
we live
forever
or something?
Baghdad
Everyone had this strange compulsion
to pause like minarets in the ritual wind
and listen
because they were convinced
that the tautness could not go on
indefinitely
that some day something had to happen
that much was certain but what form
the release
might take could only be guessed at
and lying out on the roof at night
under the stars
I strain my ears trying to imagine
I hear perhaps in the direction of
Arbataash
the faint sound of voices calling
but it is always the presence
of silence
broken now and then by a sleepy rooster
crowing on some distant housetop
or a cat
wailing in the street below or a truck
far out on Mosul Road
backfiring
bang bang
it coasts down the long hill to the Tigris
fertile old giver of life.
indirect object
quail tap dancing on carport roof
cat crouched on yellow car
looking up
blame is transitive
its object direct
or strongly
implied
regret is reflexive
like a cat crouched
re-
-cur-
-sive
like birds on a wire
cats can
be bedeviled by
the unreachable closeness of birds
regret is like this too
if the roof were gone
he could reach the bird
but where to stand
and where the bird
the past is impenetrable as corrugated tin
and wavy
the sound of birds can fascinate
or mock
blame the bird
For “Chicken” the Cat
(1987-2001)
April rain, a good day for digging,
The cat is just three hours dead
And I still hear his white throat trilling
On the wings of white cranes overhead.
Sometimes, Chicken, the sky is falling –
It hangs with the weight of lead.
How long till I no longer sense you
Under every lump in the bed?
