May 18, 2009

    The Analemma of Living

    I hesitate. What is the truth?
Every day, I blaze a new starseen, sunshadowed path on earth -- a journey without Presbyterian plan that
  scribbles a figure eight.
    An analemma of my wandering might
        resemble that of the sun's,
    which written (though not etched) in the sky every hour
        will describe infinity.
It's noon by watch and town clock,
    but the sun won't say that:
It's . . . earlier . . . or later.
    The sun stays where it is, scorched and burning. It is we who move --
    We heretics who do not have to burn, at least not for truth about the earth and the sun.
This analemmic path -- caused by the earth's tilted axis and her elliptical orbit around the sun -- makes me think I should try harder
    to be where I ought,
      to act as I should,
        to weave truth into truth, love into love,
and simpleness with complexity.

You might say this is my own Equation of Time.

May 9, 2009

    Magnetism of Water

  When I saw Spaulding Gray in NY, Jackie Onassis and her date were sitting two rows ahead. It was somewhat unnerving to be watching Gray, but seeing Onassis at the same time...he was so intense, and she was so famous. Because of where she sat, I saw that her hair was like a helmet in the back, a steep pyramid that forbade assault on the summit.
  Meanwhile, everything Spaulding Gray said opened him to us. He had no protection except his desk.
  I felt awful when he died by jumping off the ferry. Many times I'd ridden that ferry too, up in the front where the water is pushed away by the ferry so forcefully and noisily that it looks like pale green whipped cream. [Just add eggs and beat slowly.]
  I think how easy it would be to just jump in. How hard it would be not to.
  That's water for you. Swimming to Cambodia? or to Staten Island? or back home?

May 3, 2009

      Soffits and Gables

What underlies the truth we see?
    Soffited eaves and gable overhangs.
In bed, before I go to sleep, I look around for
    the tools to scrape the rot and
      rout the nesting carpenter bees.

Soffited eaves and gable overhangs--
      so long before constructed to protect
        the soft underbelly of my being.
But why should I keep protecting what
    has changed a thousand times or more, since first I built the gable that is my roof
        and my decoration?

So, soffitted eaves and gable overhangs,
    are you ready for reconstruction and repair?
Shall I paint you with lipstick and shadows?
Shall I bare you to the air and look for sunshine?
I don't need to call a handyman
    to fix my soffits and
    paint my eaves and gables,
I will do it myself because,
    after all this time, I may be able.