Farewell to My Childhood Home

Windowsills droop,
walls, tired, sigh;
I know this sky,
here it bends nigh,
my feet and thighs
have roots
here.

A Poem for my Wife on Her Birthday, 2010

A maelstrom of toxins marches

inward from the periphery:

you are vigilant with science

and slash with superstition

at their watery bellies. Continue reading →

(From almost five years ago.)

.
I do not oft look up at the sky anymore,

my eyes are stuck, set for a shallow depth-of-field;

The weeds have been snapped at the roots, yet their leaves

and long stems are still green; untwining them relieves

the choked plants, but the refuse discarded still beams

with the life that has already ended.

Among recent days, at one dying of the light,

I saw a brilliant pine tree that did gather all my sight,

and sent my mind past it, toward the well by which ’twas bright:

the fountain-sun within the black cold adumbrating night,

which forever pours forth deathly, cruel, irradiating blight,

making worlds barren.