Redeye
that never sets,
contrail bloody with
eclipse
we rock under: white bathrobe
and nudity, damp seat, damn
oarlock, fish ruching the black,
the air filled with space, with cold,
a plane so far above
its rumble is weather
crossing the width of the country,
– look away look away —
someone standing up paddling
drifts out of moonlight,
crying.
The Window’s Water
Take that! Weather is sad and furious and you
in your Kindle light, words draining, words paged
against your finger, your desire staunched
under the machine, under argument–
you touch the length of my side as if absent,
as if imprisoned in that electric grid,
only that hand free, the rest of you knotted.
I read hope in your effort, not absence,
while stars made of beaded water
stand on the pane, the light through them
furious, sad, reflecting myself
before I wipe the glass with my sleeve.
