MOUNTAIN PASS, 5 A.M. (Fifth/final draft)

Where is the last edge
Of darkness and where
Does the light hide in the morning
Before it peeks out from the
Ridiculous clouds?
Silly me, he thinks. Is this
What transition means?
He watches the moon set over
The hills as he walks,
Sees the sun rising in the east.
It is not yet day, so
He strolls on
Tongue-tied and lost,
Giving most of his attention
To the slight, invisible sounds
And the purple,
Lengthening shade.

MOUNTAIN PASS, 5 A.M. (Third draft)

Where is the last edge
of darkness and where
does the light hide in the morning
before it peeks out from the
ridiculous clouds.
Look at me,he thinks.
This is what transition means: 
He sees the moon setting over
the hills as he walks,
the sun about
to rise in the east.
It is not yet day, so
He strolls on
(tongue-tied and lost),
paying attention mostly
to the slight, invisible sounds
and to the purple,
lengthening shadows

MOUNTAIN PASS, 5 A.M. (First draft/one instant fix)

This is the transition:

Where is the last edge

of the darkness

and where does the light

of morning hide

before it decides

to peek out from the

lethargic clouds. Look at me,

he thinks. It is not yet

day.  He sees the moon

setting over the hills

as he walks,

the sun about 

to rise in the east.

He strolls on tongue-tied and mute,    

paying attention mostly

to the small sounds and the

lengthy shadows.

STONES

the gap-toothed

girl sits by

the great lake, 

her sweatered arms

hugging herself

against the cold.

Sometimes 

I envision the two

of us 

beneath the moon

and stars, the sun

and rain, even in

the driving now,

and we are looking

out across the water,

laughing our fool

asses off, the two

of us 

skipping stone after

stone, one for 

the luck of just being 

there and

one for each 

of our 

dying dreams.

SOME OF THE BIBLE'S GREATEST HITS

In the beginning

a man and a woman

have a snack

and think, "oh, god,

what have we done?"

and their sons invent

homocide

while Abraham's hand

wavers over Isaac,

moses juggles two

tablets as he

climbs down from

the mount,

and Noah counts

the tortoises

on the Lido deck.

Joseph wears

a multi-colored 

coat that ends

up Off-Broadway

while Samson gets

his haircut by

a vixen. Solomon

is wise, Job has it

bad, and David

is king, although he

does some naughty

things to get there.

In the second act,

there is a star

and a virgin

and a confused carpenter

and John the Baptist's

head 

on a platter

but before that,

there is a humble

man who speaks of peace

and gives the world

his outstretched

arms, the very ones 

they took and nailed

to a hateful, wooden world.

THIS POEM, RIGHT HERE

this is as close

as I've ever been to freedom

the word on

the page that liberates me

soothes my confusion

offers a remedy to the madness

keeps me off the streets

holds my hand when I'm about to sob

and rubs my tired temples

after a long day's work

and tells me, "there, there,

honey, it'll be all right."

STRAWBERRIES IN THE SNOW

And if a strawberry in the snow

was a gift between us

it might mean we'd answered

our own questions, discovered

an infinity, and found

the red-throated sustenance 

we've searched so 

long for. Watch now, 

as I hold the crimson fruit 

at the wet edges of our lips

and see how it sings

against the whiteness of 

another pure-hearted winter.

STAR SNIPPING

From your porch

the endless stars

shine like silver holes

that have been

shear-snipped

from the black

blanket of night

as if you were

the only one with

scissors between

your fingers and

blood on your palms.

Is there a greater

darkness than

wanting? A greater

yearning than shaping

the infinite heavens

into a pattern fit

to be sewn? 

Above you,

the halved autumn

moon tips in the sky,

and it slices through

the ambivalent clouds.

THE ANTI-HERO'S JOURNEY

Some revelations come to us
as music, some as magic, and
some as myths whose stories,
like damp black soil, grow
such perfect heroes
and gods that we
already know
when we first
learn of them
that their skills
exceed our
dreaming
and their
power
exceeds
our
reach.

AUTUMN FROM A DISTANCE

hemingway once said
write the truest sentence
you know, but
how can I? The only poetry
I have in me are
the pictures she sends
of meadows greener
than magazine photos
and trees with leaves
so gold they are currency
for my eyes.

SUBURBAN WALK (5 A.M.)

The pre-dawn sky
is nothing but an
indigo blanket
the tips of the trees
silent & motionless
the branches
skinny & naked
leaning toward
the silver stars
extended like hands
that are praying
or dying or both.
Sprinklers hiss & spit
in the darkness,
hoping to green the lawns
of their owners.
Suddenly, a jackrabbit bursts
from a bush, its left
eye riveted to my chest.
Along the avenue
cars are jet black
silhouettes
their engines
turned to ice
beneath their hoods.

SOCIETY'S RIVER

the minister cradles
our heads
over society's
river of indifference
and thrusts our crown
below the surface,
while invoking
the name of God
in a voice tinged
honey and lust.
Every day, he tells
us later, we live out
our baptism.
He doesn't know
the half of it.