For Pesach

our hearts smoke as we gaze

toward hills that rise

above the haze of waiting waters

tonight our doors are open

harsh ties that bind us are cut

we search among the sand

familiar songs and favorite foods

signal that we have come far

and that we are always at the beginning

released and releasing

remembered and remembering

in every state, grateful

to our heroes and the unnamed

who before us laid places

around this long, long table

if you hide too long
it will be harder to come out
when you want to

"Kind" by Gretchen Primack

Gretchen & I were MFA students together at Brooklyn College. She's a very fine poet and a passionate advocate for animal rights, so I'm happy to share the link below to a self-interview she's done as part of the The Next Big Thing Project about her upcoming book of poems, "Kind."

Gretchen Primack Self-Interview

in a dream I swam with your smile
in a waveless ocean
your skin pressed into mine

violet anemones, a pinecone
and valentines invite a Queen
into her quiet city

rosemary head
monkey arms
banana foot

night's parking lot, a perfect spot
to stop, my eyes
an unwritten poem

the absence of your soft presence
makes this home an empty cavern,
greys my heart

run run run over sweet-smell grass
smiles wave in your sunny wake
your beloved pack awaits

on this night, a home is full.
every heart present, every eye adores,
every hand secure, in peace

too quiet memory of your loving chaos
keeps me reeling beyond secret stars,
fills my veins with sugar sludge

waiting to hear, one way or another --
an empty frame, a frozen screen,
a blanket fallen from our bed

without your eyes on my small work
words live only in my fingers,
reflect only my heart

fatigue fair dates focus
and eyes long closed save
limited leaves for you

birds among stars, ask
to pass through these panes,
these endless rectangles

a historic library bursting
with the stories of the hordes
you leave behind

I keep coming back with nothing
to say. I'll just keep coming back
for now.

as the final candle fades, look for new ways
to work around your missing pieces
until they are ready to be revealed

Reading About Bombs in the I.C.U.

sudden illness and sudden missiles
both cause sudden lack of balance
in light of sudden death's proximity

please sweep us safely with your golden wings
away from the shaking ground that opens
suddenly before gehenna and our frightened tears

unanticipated gratitude and a steady stream of sweetness
in small measure costs little but creates great delight --
search for ways to connect with love

in these short days and long nights
whether starlight or sunshine reigns o'er a moment
the air's positive charge longs to find its perfect home

The Ballad of 1 2 3 (Including Typos)

killed the dinosaurs. The same extinction event killed many
"Did they used to live on our side?"
very real. There, they love only in imagination.

"No problemo." He ripped the wheel, and they turned
which was no wimp, was on their left and gaining.
then fizzled out.

whenever she looked in his direction, she felt horrible
ate and violent turn. She pushed back and left the table
backward into the hall and said good-bye, making sure to

comb tied into the hair on the very top of his head, like a
behind them.
reading his hideous head.

labels, schedule, location, options:
preview post normal:
do not be distracted

sometimes curling soft beauty
is only distant cover for devastation
and chaos at close range

through slats and screens
sun shines and birds dance
a refreshing invitation

quiet sunlight sparks
newspaper cellophane
regardless of the certain death within

as new frustrations arise
so do opportunities to alleviate suffering -
instead, enjoy this cup of tea

on empty, all the extras
should be this good and ours,
primordial purity

plans for steam power
are almost entirely sung
which is really just a third-person

projected, spanned, paired
from a cheeky clone,
a gorgeous serrated atmosphere.

gentle and lovely
try to heal, cry and be present
with a heart broken in three

For Gay Talese

for a documentarian
hidden under these cards
a story never dies

post settings and labels
organized in flamboyant boxes testify
to one method of loving life

best not to begin with hubris
lest you spend your hours
needlessly suffering over inconsequences

the gates may have closed
but the kitchen window is open
to birdsong and breezy sunshine

Yom Kippur

awaken!
there are embroidered spades and broken sticks all around
that need your loving and grateful attention

photo by Stephen Bugno