--THE DARKNESS COMES AND THE DARKNESS GOES

Dogfish

Of all things,

I watch you catch a shark.

The fish, a gray smudge inside cunning cobalt water,

struggles against each ripple,

darting like sun shadows between every vented wave.

You’re apparently a pro,

reeling in with ease.

Your shoulders are the color of flan,

of toast.

I remember how you’d tear off hunks of bread at breakfast,

smear the crust in bleeding egg yoke

and raise your eyes to mine,

bejeweled and sanguine.

Now your man unhooks the fish

and drops it into a handy cooler while

we—

him: _______/

you: on video in some other hemisphere/

me: seated and stupefied/—

watch the slick-skinned creature gasp

and squirm.

Loofa

Some say you survived the collision

while I went under steel wheels

eating silver spurs

of molten metal.

Some say you’ve been dancing Brazilian again

even though the planet’s propped up with pogo sticks

and antique axioms,

me eating milquetoast.

Some say you never age

you never think twice

you do not apologize.

They say you are someone else’s new elite and that I

I should slough away

like useless epidermis,

and I would,

I would but

I’ve been peeling the layers with a paring knife

and now all I am is blood.

Please

You were looking at the moon,

or perhaps you were bored.

Nevertheless, the window owned your eyes

as you stared.

And there and then

a wide streak, a pale imprint

or glow washed over you in a kind of regal holiness,

revealing the landscape of your freckled flesh,

your skin a place for the softest kisses,

mane of hair mid-spine,

woven it seemed out of sweet summer grass.

I remember.

There is not a natural rescue in this drama,

no reason on earth why you should forgive me,

yet I’ll lift my face and ask anyway:

Please?

Prodigal Moon

The moon thinks it’s a sun,

a son bloated but adrift

or not.

Not belonging really to anything.

See how detached he is,

Glowing but not proud at all,

devastated and so, so lonely,

in desperate  need of a kiss,

someone’s soft breath

whispering, “Come home.  Please come home.”

  

Sharp and Serrated

That is how I remember you,

breeding black venom,

eyes twisted metal,

your uterus a backdrop blade.

In summer when I go shirtless

everyone stares

at the scars riddled like shrapnel

and when they say, “Thank for serving our country,”

I never mention your name but reply instead,

“My pleasure.”

Porch light

There’s a devil in the hanging plant.

Even the unlovables need a sense of place.

Perfection is not a thing to toyed with.

Tolstoy wrote want he wanted, Twain pulled all our chains

and Carver broke our lungs.

If you can find a way back to normal

and tell me why we matter,

I’ll keep the door unlocked and a porch light blazing.

  

Winter Animal

There’s a wolf inside me,

long-tamed and broken,

dry-throated and wandering the winter woods alone.

The white-tailed deer don’t even bother turning,

robins haven’t a sweet tweet

and I’ve not had a thing to eat since Spring.

Only the snow knows,

remarking, “Kisp.  Kisp.  Kisp,”

as my paws sink through it.

Only the snow knows

what it is like to be this cold and unwanted.