
"A Scene" and "Metaphors"
A Scene
“Love me, love me / love me, love me now”
— Buffy Sainte-Marie
At some point,
all of this will stop:
the storm diminished to spots,
the wind making a final purr through our legs
but until then
watch the woman’s hand searching in her purse—
in this moment, anything can be summoned—
a mint, the evening light, a forgotten dream
and above see how the sky is at a loss
only the clouds aware of their own complications
while out here the minutes tremble.
You and I tremble.
Others scatter to elude this instant
time harvesting each fearsome step
but even your hand reaching out
moves through memory
so until everything comes to a crisp stop,
let the birds wait a little longer, hungry in the trees,
let the tea steep darkly and the sky impress upon us how it will
until the woman reveals from her bag
a potted pansy, the Madonna, the blind galaxy.
Metaphors
a virgin tipping the scales
half of the pie uneaten
the puck, the drop, and the scramble
a canoe slicing the stretch of lake
the proverbial glass fallen over
a ringing alarm set six months before
the profile of a face polarized
a caterpillar lounging on a leaf’s midrib
the lion crouching as the hunter crouches lower
a book opened to its deepest pages
the song’s bridge upon which we cross once more
a truck slipping into Ontario at eve—all east, all dark from here.