The cool breeze

The cool breeze, the old trees,
the bright leaves—heaviness
decays into lightness
When you’re not with me,
your enemies say you’re
a person I wouldn’t know
Truth is what works and

love’s just a shadow—
I won’t give up on her and
she won’t give up on me
If love burns it’s never slightly
I walk quickly, goal or not
Judgment and knowledge
aren’t ever the same

We’re specks in the vastness—
This is serious, sensuous
The people here are known
to be crazier than coots
Meters, tempi, moods—
our simultaneous narratives
We make it strange but not

harsh, like a Nordic girl in
some tawny, jazzy, autumnal park
Happily we walked parallel
to the carousel, focused
on its ceramic shapes in the
fullness of revolving space, our
dark energy inside our dark matter

My certainties, uncertain
My deeper rules, all new
Joe DiMaggio, they say
would, in retirement, watch
a professional baseball game
and could usually predict, from
the body language of the players

which team would win even
when the team he chose seemed
sure to lose—he’d just know
The Pagans knew that if there are
gods they’ll take care of us when
we’re dead and if there are no
gods then everything just ends

We may feel a lasting burn
even after the event, after
the cause, is forgotten like some
shadowy torch wrought in
shadows—here then gone, the
inevitable impermanence—each
of our days together, so precious



-November 2, 2018-