Snowfall

My back against cold cinderblock –

my six weeks’ babe in arms –

while through the triple window
over wood and waxy leaves
snow falls in slant surprising lines –

And from the big bright room outside,
words too
fall
weighted with a wonderful surprise:

“Thou son of David –
Joseph! –
Fear not.

The virgin is with child.”

Buried Treasure

DeathtoStock_Clementine10

If stars leave trails
And fairies leave dust,

Then parents leave gold

In flecks –

Over their children’s hearts.

Unseen –

Till time, the great miner, proves

You left

Gold

Poison.

Here the answer to the cynic’s ache –

your

wary
weary
constant

watch for the
man behind the curtain:

“Hope that does not put to shame.”

A house is not a neutral box,
Nor rooms a mere four walls.

It hears you and it sees you,
And it remembers things,

And twenty years from now – or eighty –

Your echo still

For good or ill

Will be there.

So you have seen the Taj Mahal,
Strolled through Paris arrondissements,
Lingered in the light of Chartres’ rose, and
Danced in tropic rains.

While I – ?

Well, I
have curled in the confines of one room,
fed, rocked, guarded, sung and prayed

for one new soul.

But perhaps –

after all, my friends –

I have traveled just as far as you.