In The House Magisterial

The immense and stumbling wind
Passes through a field
Into a house where a portrait
Of Christ slides from the wall
Onto the azure floorboards.
Overhead, the loneliness of childhood
Wanders the second floor
And dances in the strange, abandoned darkness.
Love, which is as real and full of light
As an apricot on winter evenings,
Sees itself shining in a mirror
Overrun by dust.
Of what remains from the old, long-gone inhabitants
I find only withered, flaking furniture
And a dirty, jewel-encrusted star.

Old Honey

Full of longing and delicately stored
In the small earthenware jar of honey
The dragonfly has waited forty years
To steal from its chrysalis
And be spread.

Wild Pears

Describing the dawn
As precisely as equating equations
Is a task that language cannot do.
We must substitute the perfection of the moment
For the lesser perfection of words,
Though they…