Four Poems from Barge

VIII.

It feels so good that it’s this year, not last A wind whipping rain seasonal but unexpected IX. Just like a poem rose the building Pure in the evening, its modern angles Highlighted by a halo of glowing cloud Backed by an evening sky with just The palest touch of blue A beautiful homeless drag queen sitting On the sidewalk, matching that other Homeless queen, dressed in pink Every day, even in the dead of winter Sitting with her things in the same spot And the people in the evening speaking Such sweet things to one another “Thank you so much for dinner” “Oh, it was just a pleasure” The energy is all and nothing This poem is a machine for writing Poems, and as I think that I realize It will one day break down and stop Writing poems, but that day I will Find another machine and friend X. I have walked in these canyons all my life And never realized how to get to the peaks Now I realize that I am where I belong Although I have not changed my place The oddly familiar sounds and feelings were also nauseating, depressing, disheartening Then the viewers heard the shattering sounds and felt the sickening concussion The moon is still in the sky And there’s a bunch of turkey buzzards overhead Nothing to be overheard but the buzz Of machinery, children’s voices, birds You are dragged back to city’s nerves But the greater part persists in nature’s glow Pool reflections on the umbrella, lilies and hydrangea By the side of the barn A few days ago, the beach summoned Energies of long-buried poetries XIX. But what I mean most of all Is stop — Morning sun through poplars Later, dead lily stalks catch      Perfect strokes Small frog floats in pond grass All in the end is being there For that one now needs it To be always in the present Even when that present is dying People die in ponds —      Boats turn over A solid blue, green-edged, hovers Silken marsh grass waves At day’s end light in pine tops

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