I don’t know

I don’t know if it’s real or
If I am hallucinating

The Morse code
Of the butterfly bush
Against my kitchen window
Urging me to consider
Its other lives as
Fire water wind soil
As the blue-winged insect
Beats to the rhythm of
The universe
My life springing
From its proboscis

I don’t know
It must be the sun
And cardinals
Tricking my senses


He can see

A man. Alone. In the window.
Face lit up by the screen, the lamp, the moon.
Close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair,
Reading glasses. Not a boy. A man. Alone.
Typing on the keyboard.
“What has my life been? What have I seen?
Who has seen me?”
The man pauses and looks out the window
Into the night.
He senses the Big Dipper.
He inhales the emptiness.
He is struck by the darkness of matter,
And by the pure white of the birch.
He closes his eyes. He can see.

Slapping my cheek if I am not there

She sat under the table like
A doll with too few joints to be
Mistaken for a full human
Back straight
Legs extended
Arms bent at the elbow
Head slightly forward
Staring at her hands
Rotating them in and then out
As if asking the question:
What is the sound of your palm
Slapping my cheek
If I am not there?

The physics of love

Love biology
Love chemistry
Love physics

Love physics?

Two spirits collide
On a felt green table
One propelled by the cue of
Toward another
High-speed collision
Scurry scared into corners
Opposite and equal to
The angle of impact
Need to take space
Transferring breath
Kinetic to potential
Potential to kinetic
Rolling racing
Dragging behind
Yielding to friction
Stopping to take a
Just before the precipice
Look at the other who
Sent your head spinning