ANTIDOTE 1
no matter what happens
There will always be stars,
far above the fires raging
in troubled cities.
Our old cats will circle
round our laps and once settled
throw us eye kisses
containing love as infinite as the night sky
and no matter what
The birds will still
gather in trees at dusk and sing
the news of that day,
who caught the first worm,
who was left hungry,
and who flew so high
and never made it back.
And there will be you
and the rich currency
of time well spent
the times we rescued
injured birds,
the times you leapt up
to make sure my history
did not consume me.
It is enough to make my heart explode
when I remember
how often I forget.
Signs of Spring I was walking through Central Park last February and, while passing a seemingly empty field, saw a Robin. Then I noticed another Robin and a third one and realized that even though they were spread out, the whole field was populated by Robins. I tried to share the view with a young couple walking by, "Look here, this field is full of Robins!" I must have sounded like a lunatic because they said "yeah, yeah, yeah" and kept walking. It did not matter. It was enough to feel the gratitude of the moment. I felt a deep sense of the shifting winter light. Everything was still asleep, but the earth in its rotation had moved slightly closer to the sun. I imagine that the Robins felt it first.
A View With A Pool
The summer I had pneumonia, I could not go to our building’s pool, but I had a great view of the pool in the building next door. Even though I was not feeling well, I drew the Cliffhouse pool, and it helped me feel the light, the water, the trees, the deck chairs, and the potted plants of the season.
Night Bloom
Thirty-some odd years ago,
scrapped by heartbreak
I picked up a used bicycle for $25
and rode around town in the evenings.
I could not bear to sit at home
through a brutal, lonely sunset.
A bed of Irises covered the front yard
of a small apartment building.
The people who lived there believed
in the resurrection. I took a picture
using a cheap camera without a flash.
I did not pick an Iris from the garden.
Instead, I took the words “I rise”
with me as I turned each corner
on my way home.