The Conversations I Remember Most
The way a sweet cake wants
a little salt in it,
or blackness a little gray nearby to be seen,
or a pot unused remains good for boiling water,
the conversations I remember most
are the ones that were interrupted.
Wait, you say, running after them,
I forgot to ask—
Night rain, they answer.
Silver on the fire-thorn’s red berries.
As A Hammer Speaks to a Nail
When all else fails,
fail boldly,
fail with conviction,
as a hammer speaks to a nail,
or a lamp left on in daylight.
Say one.
If two does not follow,
say three, if that fails, say life,
say future.
Lacking future,
try bucket,
lacking iron, try shadow.
If shadow too fails,
if your voice falls and falls and keeps falling,
meets only air and silence,
say one, again,
but say it with greater conviction,
as a nail speaks to a picture,
as a hammer left on in daylight.
