Ambiguity
— After Gregory Corso
Her death
is as vivid
as memory
can evoke
and as blurred
as my memory
is to me
Layers of Sand
— After C. P. Cavafy
The memories of the current flow
down in me
like fine sand sliding into a pit
on the beach—
sun-warmed, glittering, and
slippery fine sand
The memories of the past sink deeper,
cold layers of sand now hidden
beneath;
some grains near the top still
occasionally shine through,
shortly before being covered, out
of the sun
I want to dig them up; their
disappearance upsets me,
and I'm upset, too, for the mix-up
from my digging.
I look in, at the topmost grains
I don't want to stop digging for fear
the sand at the bottom
will start to turn into mud, and the mud take over the pit,as quickly as the river water takes over the beach
Three Paradoxes
— After Wistawa Szymborska
When I speed across the intersection
I'm delayed, all cars deadlocked
by mine
When I walk toward the horizon
I make it further away
When I look forward to tomorrow's
sunlight
I come closer to the ultimate
darkness
