POEM

It was forming

long before it got set down

between margins,

before it was threaded 

through lines 

tapering across

and down a page

like this one.

It came into me

like water entering gills—

through an openness,

through a kind of seeing

and listening

that I can’t quite describe,

that is as magical and alchemical
as H₂O turning into air.

DANCER

     after Twyla Tharp

abandon sense, push

to the edges, stretch

without breaking     invention

is sacrament

as flame

of mind, dancer:

prolific, improvisa-

tional, agile, repeating

ever repeating

body, waning

in time            forgiving,

forgetting dangers,

releasing fireflies, rehearsing

becoming        a  blank

WILD CHILD

I was a wild child.

I climbed cabinets,

threw, for no reason,

jade ashtrays into

fireplaces, and when I was told
“no” it clearly meant go 

to the knife drawer,

which I did with

utter abandon.

I was fearless then.

What I would give

to know that boy

now. To have what

he had. And to live

in a world where

opposition was nothing

more than an invitation
to do the unexpected.

APERTURE

fanning blades

expanding and contracting

motion after motion

choosing

intricate mechanism

the aperture

of my life