I lost my thought,

And the runaway train carried away the dog of my idea,

Retracing it impossible,

Lost in the cold junctions and scrambled tracks of my mind.

I can think of it now, out there, somewhere,

A small black collar tinkling with the brass message

“If Found, Please Return.”

But as I came home

It sat there in the driveway,

Waiting patiently for me in the dusky light,

Like a faithful golden retriever.


Lightning Camera

When the lightning was striking,

It struck me that some higher being might

Be documenting the region

With some enormous antique flash-pan camera.

And when under the dim red light (not infernal)

The liquids brought our images swimming to the surface,

They showed me dancing, laughing,

A blur living so hard and fast that focus

Could not catch me.

You too, smiling, inconsistent,

Happy and inconsistent,

Insisting that life meant nothing

And finding every meaning you could.

And here I was,

Expecting to see you starched and upright,

With a pale blank stare,

Looking at the camera

Like a wall painted white.

Meditations on a Slow Hand

Where I work,
There is a clock that time-travels,
Starting with a single minute into the past,
and even going as far as five.
Here there are so many things that have not happened.
Infants still hiding in wombs,
Proposals trembling on the lips of trembling suitors,
Some soul not winging its way heavenward,
Still on the road, unbroken by accident.
Here I can sit,
Five minutes unaware
That the breath of the angel sounding the last trump
Has been blown.
Here it has not even
Been breathed.