“The aim of haiku is to live twenty four hours a day, that is, to put meaning into every moment, a meaning that may be intense or diffuse, but never ceases.” – R.H. Blythe
I’ve woken all week from this Hindu Professor
Lecturing me on invisible gaps in space
That hold everything together and keep us apart
The blue detergent from the dark cupboard corner
When released floods with pent-up sudsy life
I didn’t follow directions
Trees are the image
Opera the sound
I am the eyes and the ears
An old friend on the phone
“Splendid, that’s simply splendid”
After: “that poor, poor girl”
The sound of water
Swirling over mossy rocks
A camera clicks
“Did you get a good photo?”
“Do not concern yourself with my picture-taking
Go back to your red notepad.”
At the still pond
A leaf tries to get in the picture
A bullfrog tries to get in the poem
Crackling leaves
As from raindrops falling
Above us golden branches, blue sky
Kodak moments
No camera
No more Kodak
Wind through the trees like a rushing stream
But there’s only the stone walls that are a way of life here
At the real stream dogs want to pee
Bouquets in thick black mud
Elephant ears, skunk cabbage, tall yellow iris,
A powder-blue dragonfly with four giant wings
Our quiet walk
Disturbed by a sudden, simultaneous “ah”
Dirt and rock above our heads from an overturned tree
A tree and a rock in the same spot
Have been fighting it out for years
The tree with its chokehold seems to be winning
Poorhouse Brook
Down Frogtown Road
In water turned to filthy-rich wine New Canaan
At the top of the hill beyond the desolate forest
Brand-new mansions all in antique taupe
Every one is deserted, For Sale by Broker
Flags and balloons surround the deli
The doors are flung open wide
The proprietor says hi and smiles, but no food
An actual green yellow red
Traffic light stands in someone’s front yard
I wonder if they turn it on at Christmas
The music is too furious
We wait it out in the driveway
"Cello Concerto" by Camille Saint-Saëns
Pulling roots, dragging water, digging holes, planting flowers
Exhausted afterwards
Like after a fuck
Reading, reading, poetry everywhere
But to catch it I must walk a million miles
Hey that’s me up ahead, reading
The house is now still
Despite the churning of my brain
My clothes spin in the washing machine
A call: they’re drinking urine in LA now
I fear it may now be too late for my idea
Trapped Amazonian Oxygen in canisters
Tony comes to fix the fence
Asks me about the future of the Euro
Says he misses Michelangelo’s face on the Lire
“Times were better when they were worse,
You know, that’s what they say in Sicily
But to them 100 years is in their back pocket.”
Tiny turds in our house we follow as breadcrumbs
To a chipmunk hanging from the window shade
That explains all the funny business in this house
It takes a broom, quick
Reflexes and a village
To coax a chipmunk outdoors
She remembers every number on her old address
In Delaware Ohio
But doesn’t know if Harding or Hayes was born there
Away from his people, Steven Tyler confides to Oprah:
"I'm alone here, I'm all alone!
Will you be my friend?"
I try to get the skinny on this eclipse
A rare alignment of earth, sun, moon and Alcyone
The Great Central Sun – meaning I’m on my own
Mad Men replays my worst scenes from childhood
I can never get enough , squealing with glee
It’s always the highlight of the week
I put more care in preparing for sleep
Than anything else that I do all day
It must be the most important thing
A thin bright light frames the closed door
Like the eclipse – as above, so below
As on the outside, so within
