Through That Kingdom

I have scaled the dicey terrain of the Galilee,
Climbing down into trees snaking up.
I’ve abandoned my peers huffing,
Trailing behind me;
A Tarzan in the holy land,
Easing my way in and out of duplicitous dirt paths.

I have scorched my way through a sun-stricken desert,
Running ahead of the laggers behind.
Sweating indecently, drinking in visions,
Water out of bottles,
Mirages in the distance;
I felt the warm rain as it flirted, then died.

I have swam inside streams that parted for fish,
Darting in and out of the sparkling blue sea.
Holding my breath
As I jumped down the ladder,
Breaking the surface with unparalleled ease.

I’ve scampered up mountains no mortal can scale.
And no one could catch me,
Rolling down sand dunes,
Floating through space,
Motionless, untouched,
All of this done with my hair in my eyes.

From the Stage

She was only ever a spectator in my life.
And I thanked her for that. I loved her for that.
And when my memories shifted,
I hated her for that. I despised her for that,
With a rage that overwhelmed my senses, coloring the black
of my eyeballs. I couldn’t really see for the anger. And I sang
of her, I sang to her. Memories made in the coldest winter. In
my imagined reality I was up there on the stage,
lips moving, tongue slinging, hands in that familiar motion,
sliding. Her dress white and patient. Good-bye my friend, I will
never love again. I couldn’t hear her as
            she helped me to my feet,
            her flame enveloped me, with its movement,
            subtle, sweet. I couldn’t read the smiles that laughed
            out through her cheeks, but still her presence
            called, and I watched myself proceed.
She used to speak about the dazzle of love fusing
with the wonder of being alive, existing, spinning
            moving
her,                                     in general. I didn’t move.
I used to peer into the fading peaches of my closed eyelids,
loving the way her hollows fit into mine, the way her bones
contained the gentle pressure that shook my curving spine.
I used to marvel at the wide sheaths of sunlight,
filled with waltzing dust particles, that would slant over her.
I don’t do that anymore.
I don’t repeat her name as I strum down
the open chords of a closed guitar. I am no longer a shearsman
of sorts.                                    Though the day dawns green.
                 Things as they are
                                                are changed upon my blue guitar.
Not for her, though. She listens to music, absorbing it into her bones,
her chipping white marrow, the arrows that settle on the grass,
but it is no longer my song she hears.

Monticello, 1990

She smiles as if she knows.
He smiles though he clearly doesn’t.
With the fires and dogs of Auschwitz-Birkenau
40 years over her shoulder, no longer does she wake up
In the middle of the night, fear filling the hole in her heart
Where her parents now live. And six siblings.
All that’s left is a faded batch of numbers
Branded onto a forearm, as familiar as the neighboring freckles.
And yet…she has no idea how bad it can get.
Standing in front of the lake, the quiet gazebo on the side;
This is vacation. This is summer. This is God’s country.
And yet…in her pleated skirt, billowing like clown pants,
With her smile; calm, earned, and rooted in the present,
She—a Babi, he—little more than a chipmunk, a chavargo,
She stands beside him and doesn’t peer into the future.
Because if she did, if she were to,
Well then,
She might just see those things, those dreaded, clammy things,
That would make her past seem a safe retreat.

hydrangeas bursting

never have I doubted the existence of God
but the warm presence beside me?
frequently
but never has it not been there
I remember driving out to Passaic once
back when the world swam open in shades of black and white and just the tiniest hint of grey
to buy a book a swarm of books that I thought hoped might bring me closer to the middle
and the seller caring not for the heights of spiritual innergrowth a man of the business the trade
sold my eager hands the collection and I left there drove back to Teaneck getting lost on the way
aware throughout it all that it was something I had to do
even if even when I never opened those books after that day
and still
I run in circles on the edge of the track listening to the wind whistle
not sure of what it is that I want what it is that I need where it is that I must go
and what it is that I must do when I get there
but sure surer than I have ever been of anything
that I will know get the feeling when the time comes when my wisdom matches my experience
my rabbi once told me there is only so much instruction I can give I waited
I can direct you how to get there but it is you who needs to ultimately find the path
I coughed you will find the path I sneezed the path for yourself

weather

it's autumn again
and what that means to me
nay
what that does to me
is something tragic
though I try to be better I try try try
sometimes it doesn't work sometimes it's just too hard there is an answer no
well maybe I'm lost again forever again in the waves in the wind of the Spanish coast
in Washington wanting to be not wanting to be and I can see the reeds 
they sway bend break move around me like they haven't a care in the world
which
I suppose
they haven't

in a field of rye

yes there is a long and winding road

and yes it leads to a door

but before then or is it after?

a crow’s cock the cock of a gun .38 special

in front of a mirror leering

“This is my statement” the lingering smile of the hooded the hidden

hovering by the entrance all of the day and all of the night

in the morning hand-shaking a beautiful boy darling Sean

and in the evening                                                                                 waiting

waiting

rustling pages

waiting

the screech of a limousine stumbling out buzzing laughing

“Mr. Lennon! Mr. Lennon!”

pistol shots ring out on a frosty night

enter Stephan Lynn in from the corridor

one two three four

five

six

seven

all good Beatles go to heaven

hold on John John hold on

hold on hold on hold on

Holden

it’s gonna be alright