Canciónes de Oro
How does the song
Go,
My boat is so small,
And your ocean is
So big
(Translated)
Extraordinary image
Of a strenuous
Hope for
Amazing grace
Cantan ustedes,
Queridos
Please sing, my loved
Ones
Valley of Death
A hundred years ago
And slightly more,
There was war in the
Crimea
And we must learn
The same lesson there,
Time and again
Tennyson mourned
Troops lost in
Misdirected battle—you
Can look it up,
You should
http://www.cnn.com/2016/08/11/europe/ukraine-high-alert-russia-crimea/index.html
Oxygen
1
As in I’m in favor of
And would like more;
My neighborly air
Too damp
Like Arabian palaces
And towers, craving
Light and space and
Breathing in and out
In an Earth-blue sky
Anyone offering work
Maybe
With room and board
Arizona or how about
California? Or in
Situ the Alhambra?
I know, there are
Wildfires out west—
Conflagration of a
Kind (unkind) along an
Eastern sea;
Thieving atmosphere
Suffocates
Inhaling things
2
All fire swindled from
Prometheus someday
Will cease
In recompense,
While damage to open
Lungs and other
Capabilities are
Prolonged matters
Fire-scarred will
Propitiates our faults,
Mitigates any anger
For the rest, leaving
For last joys our homely
Fires burning against
Night
We, dwelling through
The cold, may story-
Tell the impact of our
Age
(epilogue)
Oxygen feeds fire and
Needful issues
Propelled by nascent
Hope and sometimes
By outraged
We have no choice but
To deal in both
Breathe in air, then
Breathe out our part
Psalm 49
(a penultimate song)
Before the last,
One more thing,
Please, to say:
O Lord, like all
The seasons that
You muster,
You are constant
In provision;
Might we live in
Gratitude,
Thirsty children
Who can yet look
Up before
We stoop, saving,
To drink—
Risking, yes, a
Moment of hurt
Brilliance
Gazing, as we
Do, toward the
Direction of one
Who has
Left life for us
In a healing cup,
Freely filled with
Consequence,
And bread that
Was earth-fired,
Once
Psalm 48
God Breaks Through
The day comes
When God breaks
Through
When an open hand
Will not be
Withheld by grace
Or by design
We cannot bring
It down—release
Or entice it
Our timing has no
Meaning here
We should leave
It all alone
A mind ordains, a
Host obeys
The earth will be
Complete
Ready to be
Apprehended in
Capture and in
Understanding
Day time and
Night time
Without time
haiku about death and life
Dying is helpless
The skies open, nature weeps
Hopeless in mourning
Prize in awaking
Who knew how to feel about
Death, an opening
After a Few Days Away
I drive through
A steam-filled
World
At home, more
News of dying
Both by design
And unassigned
I gather in
Headlines and
Their stories
While struggling
To breathe hot
Wet solid air
Searching for
Hope-openings
Through which
To inhale
Refuge
(listening to public radio)
A man is interviewed
Via translation
I lost my daughter in
The explosion
Here is a picture of her
There are two;
She was twin to the
Daughter I still have
Paper riffles, passing
The photograph back
And forth
Her mother is gone, too
He does not say his
Wife
I wonder if he says
“Mother” instead,
Because this is
The relationship that
Must matter now
The mother of his
Living daughter died,
And he must see to
That for her
Or is it that he cannot
Bring himself to say
Again, my wife
Aleppo, Pennsylvania
Neighborhood is
Near three rivers
Reminding us that
Syria, native or
Immigrant (like the
Rest of ours), has
Been America for
A long, long time
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