Monday, November 16, 2009


Large crumbs fall from my plate all day long:
a trip downtown to bring her the potassium she forgot to take with breakfast,
four hours at my mother-in-law's, typing a letter,
a traffic jam on Central Park West
but when, at the end of my day, together we walk through the front door,
I find that what is left on my plate is yet sweet substance,

Minnewaska, Rte. 44/55, 11/15/2009

Driving down the mountain road, we exit the fog for a moment,
and the world looks like it's been polished with glass cleaner.
Below us, across the valley, the lower peaks protrude through a billowing sea of clouds --
islands of Avalon in
"The Gunks".
Moved as I am by this image, I want to paint it,
e p i c s t r o k e s
profound poetics;
a still breath
and I see,
my intervention is unnecessary;
this perfect poem
has always been.