24 Hours

On Venus, a day equates
to one hundred sixteen
and three quarters of our own

sunrise to sunrise,
where a world
is conceived: at the threshold

your hand moves forward
to pull up the blinds,
the dust motes hang

without intention of settling —
an orchid waits expectant
for the light
but your hand is still yet

to reach up
but the dust will never fall,
except when you turn away or sleep

or find a friend in a dream
has not only a day but a decade
gone by like rain at dawn

you are not sure what you will find
in the mirror —
a night is long when the drawers
are full and the pages are blank

soon the church bells chime
from down the street
the way each Sunday blinks back fear
and blinks again so that

next week appears
fresh as de ja vu
as you open the door to look at the sky —
looks the same as thirty-two

years ago when you were born,
when you got here from
someplace else,

where a day
knows no real end
and has been forever beginning

Memento II

The ephemera of my blinked
existence live in shoeboxes,

cigar cases dust-lined and
discolored as if from slow fire

smoking through teenage
correspondence, solemn feelings,

molars and other artifacts
dropped from us

and kept for the reason why
there may be birds which

forget to find their lives beautiful
when nesting, when soaring and

anxious on telephone lines
I dig up the source

but am pulled under
because there was more to

the story that had or hadn’t

tickets and once-scented kerchiefs
and the newness of love,

a mirror that isn’t,
we ultimately do not stumble

upon ourselves, only someone else
who remembers by keeping


A mother recovers

To heal, to make whole.
Thus, the blank space
between sounds.

Thus, a rift in tectonic plates.

The hands which beckon or beg
or beat, discovering
a source of light.

A bone knows which way to grow,
underneath all those sinews.

As in a call to prayer,
an invitation to come in
from the world.

As in being bare,
not brave or unbound,
seeking comfort in the small
justices of television plotlines.

The fluids of our lives
come to our rescue.

We press down on the sutures
while children swan dive
into this arena,

and our words become
intentions intercepted

no dividing was ever
done so gracefully