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 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.
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
Why was there no woman of tears
and soft hands to go to this tree,
and massage it before it died?
Sometimes prayers you have to wrestle them loose
for they bear the beloved
and you don’t want to bear
the beloved away
When you have children your heart
leaves the safety of the rib cage.
The bones open up and the thing is out there
to torrents of bruises and dyes.
If it should flow through us like water
wetting every cell as it goes,
why not ride this living means to be boundless,
and say goodbye to our hard little pool?
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.
Jerry Brown meets Linda Rondstadt when he’s still in the Jesuit seminary, see. Jerry wants to drop out, but Linda is overwhelmed. She writes “Different Drum” and breaks his heart. Jerry recovers and eventually becomes Pope. Linda realizes (too late) he was the great love of her life. She sings “Long, Long Time” and pines (really pines).
My love has held nothing in place –
and has itself, some of it, gone
to where love and time decompose
in a field of stars and glass.
As I dress she asks,
Another day at the
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.