JACK-IN-THE-BOX

He’s missing 

before we get our words out he’s gone

absent nowhere to be seen

even present was invisible a scent a waft

wandering through the rooms

a vibration in the turn of a door handle

or the fall of a hammer least expected

mutely we look around

ask approval most of all advice

knowing this won’t translate

his is a new language

the old useless

where he’s gone

we find ourselves in a world held together

fastened glued patterns arrangements

clever ingenious

his second tongue

he understood how the spring coiled itself under pressure

its mouth biting on the small burr

fingers and thumb of one hand

holding it all together

a jack-in-the-box squeezed into that studied moment

perhaps he will rise again

when we light the stove

twist its automatic ignition

maybe return on the imperceptible desert breeze

when we open the windows on the edge of night

slide them in their grooves

glass walls on the move

hear them click

satisfied complete

releasing us from the box

letting us breathe at last

in this new language

I Stay Tight as a Bud

I stay tight as a bud the rest depends
upon the weather and whether I can
drink your water through my toes

see how the petals nest inside each other
the one spinning against the outside my
overcoat these 64 years keeping all this

together note the elbows frayed
the patina of encounters in late
night conditions the slowest to bloom

that's what they say or what a waste
to quote my mother but I'm not complaining
nodding yes can't you see agreement

with the all when it's in front of you
resilience is everything to me the colors
with their elemental promises of one

long parade that day will come and all
the horses with their leis float up like Chagall's
kites making sunrise and sunset at once

I never get tired of the word epiphany
though it's out of fashion I know and
I know too the many splendored day

should never be saved up it must be spent
woken up lifted against the eternal night