Four Poems

Building the Bonfire

The long day goes under. As usual the dark for a moment
feels like the mind turning, more than half reluctantly,
toward the wider theme that some call history, and others
chance… Treat loneliness as
                                               just another landscape, and
you can make a good life there. Of the moon, how far tonight,
or near, depending. Without either of them having
meant to, they never spoke
                                           again: not just acceptance, but
an insistence on the toss-and-go weather of who they were –
together, and separately – inside. Omens, harbingers,
predictions. It only stands to reason that a broken thing,
if it thrives, thrives brokenly. I walked in the park today,
I found this flower, I’ve named it
Anyone’s Face, Still Soft,
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