How certain loves could have gone

There was the one of castaways on the island,

how he’d have not have had her

except for that island and his being the

alternative to no one –

and of his having been dumped by her

after “love” followed by rescue.

Then, too, there was the older man of money,

once handsome but now well past his prime –

and her,

and what won’t money buy if you’ve enough of it?

Well, except for actual love.

And so now I’m wondering about that kind,

and how love has gone,

and what that has to do

with what I’ve to say here.

Cracked Tree

Why again news, no more news

of divorce. I hadn’t heard of these two,

hadn’t dreamed they’d divorce.


A tree sways in the wind, but doesn’t

do as trees normally do, it cracks

like a painting

into pieces.


Why was there no woman of tears

and soft hands to go to this tree,

and massage it before it died?

How in heaven the old

How in heaven the old appears first

for the sake of recognition –

your gaunt frame and thinning hair,

the soft blue veins on the back of your hand.

We’ll need to be sure.

We’ll have to hear the little cough in your throat first,

before we’ll know we’re there.

Why I love my wife

As I dress she asks,

Another day at the

wood-chopping farm?

And yes, it does begin

in a kind of wood

where trees pose a problem,

physically or metaphorically,

and you wouldn’t want one

landing wrong in either case.

My chopping, of course,

being but a form of bewilderment,

won’t bring one down, but

you’re right to note, dear,

my attire would well serve

the man who could.