Day 28: Three to Go

words from page 73 of the nearest book

dropping my mood from the indigo gloom to a rosier room
I, once incensed, now unfist the muscle of my mind and hesitantly find
a faint pulse line, a turquoise vein, dropping inspiration into stagnant pain
on the verge of a glow, from a well a creature waves, and I know
the face at the bottom looking up at my own is my own,and
I am the well, and I am the fine, and this face of mine is the questioning kind.

Day 27: Waiting For the End of April

The bench, where lovers have met since lovers began,
and lovers write poems for lovers,
and time trades lovers for lovers,
and new lovers wait for their lovers,
the bench,
is half frozen.

Day 26: For Wu Singh

You, black time
you ghost of my thirties
you who whisper my name in nightmares
I don't love you anymore
swallow.
I love the colors of the fog on the water
and her hair in my hand in the middle of the night

Day 25: Rose Parade

"You're the Rose Parade!
a vivid fragrant party
everyone sleeps through."

Day 24: Indian Wells

"Writing is a way of saying you and the world have a chance." Richard Hugo

I look up into desert darkness
and bathe my lungs in native air
It's when the rocky bare
mountains are unseen that they're most beautiful.
I wonder if it's the same with me.

Day 23: A Triolet For the Couple at the Hammer Museum

His wife had hair of silver
He wore a coat of tweed
Her hair flowed like a river
His wife had hair of silver
Her kiss made his lip quiver
They watched the poet read
His wife had hair of silver
He wore a coat of tweed

Day 22: A Triolet For Jesus

Did he dance at the wedding?

Was his dancing divine?

As the warm sun was setting

did he dance at the wedding?

The closer his time was getting

to change water into wine

did he dance at the wedding?

Was his dancing divine?