picked clean

some poems
are just gristle
and bones

spare and naked  
truth
from deep
inside

exposing
a visceral
and terrible
beauty

default

we are born
hungry

belly and soul

wailing
to be filled

odd couple

Watching the old man scowl

and stomp away,

I gently asked her,  

Why?

A bit of wistful met her crinkled smile.

    He just needs a bit of distance.

    I think sometimes he's a little afraid of me,

       if truth be told.

My forehead creased with questions I could not voice,

but her eyes met my confusion

with sudden shining depth,

pressing in on me 

in a rush of calm

and blue.

    He is fire, child,

    and I am water.

 


February 2007