Eating An Orange
Working back
the tough skin,
wondering why
it starts this way,
everything worked for,
my mind sticky
and wanting more,
pulling this
simple act
Keep a little distance — not
enough to scare her, just
enough not to. Cup it in
your hands, like a tiny
cloud you can use to
predict the weather. Open
them, show her: the sky
will not frighten her. Nor
the stars in your blazing
palms, nor the moon suspended
like love. You are the moon
in her heart, and the moon
always circles.
The Inside Of Things
As I become less afraid,
my body changes. I rediscover
my legs. I dig out from life
as from an avalanche of days.
The stones glow faintly.
The inside of things becomes
                  My eyes are the color
of the sea. Everything before
me laps against them. Roads
wind in me. The snow on
mountains melts. As far as I
can see, I am.
His Dreams

His dreams were waiting. They’d come for his past, his wife, his country. He held the alarm clock before him, like a crucifix. They wanted him to believe time was a dream, too, but he knew.

After She Left

After she left, he sat up all night watching his body for signs of change, then watching his mind, trying to arrange his thoughts like jewelry. In the morning, he walked as far as he could, following the street as if it were another life leading him away from his own.

The Last Judgement

He stood, dumbfounded, before God.
“I’m no good at names,” he stammered. “But I never forget a face.”