LATER, SKATER

It was Rhonda who helped me, yeah, helped me

get over and on with. Helped me catch a cat

nap, then calculate—then, better yet, forget

all about the half-life of love. Gave me a tall drink

of water. Gave me an eye- and earful.

Said take a chance on France. Said look at that Eiffel

Tower towering over us. No use crying over

or spilling anything. Mooning around

like a sick pup. A watched pot

soaking up the blue light of a late night

TV movie. Well, who can sleep? We can sleep

when we’re dead. Dear ax-grinder, show me

what else you got up your sleeve. Yours

is a painful music, but it’s music.

KNOCK

I won’t describe the colors of flowers today.

They die too.

The river cuts around rocks, scrapes

its toothy blade along its flanks.

In a thousand, ten thousand years, this will be

a gully, a ravine.

And there are seeds picked up, carried by birds,

dropped far from here,

and so, soon,

these trees grow there too.

Basho said leaves fall

and so they fell

as his lover went away.

The yawning space between two trees

is a door.

Knock and it swings open.