Dedicated To Alla Gallagher   I open the door to dawn.   Alone in the park, Under a gnarled bough Still filled with night, A silver-haired woman Makes beautiful gestures. She dances a script That is sculpting the air.   I grant an audience,   For this ballet has consequence. She raises an arm precisely … More The Queen of Atlantis (In Jefferson Square)

In Memory:  Toni Hardley   Pink petals, white petals, drifting downwards, Beautify the graves of the earth. The flower veil falls away, and leafy spears, Tinged a reddish black against the bark, Sprout to guard a ripening hoard. Life slowly sobers into the gravitas of fruit. At the heart of each, a bitter, indigestible stone … More The Pink and the White

Readers, keep in mind that this was written many years ago. The pain the poem presents also dissipated a long time ago. The resolution: In the words of the poem, it was another who made me welcome. In Memory of Erich Wolfgang Korngold   “With this just-sustain’d note I announce myself to you, This gentle … More Die tote Stadt II

In Memory of Erich Wolfgang Korngold   This is the view then, Of a city thought most beautiful. To the north and south, the east, the west,   Hillsides are terraced As if they were ziggurats. They point to a violet, cloud-stippled sky.   Beneath the cypress tree where I pause, I notice a memorial … More Die tote Stadt I

Parrot Haiku (Jefferson Square) Bright and sentient Wind. It breathes in the pine–parrots, A feathered halo.   Alms Haiku Cowled alms-seeker: For so little you reveal Your sapphire eyes.   Cellist Haiku I Magisterially, The cellist raises her scepter, Then readies it to reign.   Cellist Haiku II The music stampedes. She grips the mane … More Four Haiku

In Memoriam:  Francine Wiley   I have reached To this sad height, Remembering you, My sister. At last, I understand you, When I wish, instead, That I could rave Against the dying Of the light.   The twin peaks, The foremost peak. For years, I sat here mesmerized By the power Of the panorama. Today, … More Pax Aeterna

This was the first version of the poem, but I prefer the second, more imagist version.   I cross a wooden bridge to the grove. Beneath the cowl of branches and leaves, A dimming. Quiet becomes more so. My breathing slows. Along the way, birds flit in the canopies, As if signaling a path to … More The Redwood Grove

Imagist Version   I cross a wooden bridge to the grove. Beneath the spreading branches and leaves, A dimming. Quiet becomes more so. Along the path, There is only the flitting of birds Through flowered panglias– Too quick to be seen, and otherwise silent. Soon, shafts of sunlight show the center, An aggregate of black-green … More The Redwood Grove

Dedicated In Pectore   I sit on the bench behind them.   They are a family of four. The husband throws a ball to his wife As gently as he can. Their girl and boy run circles Between them Trying to intercept it. They rarely do.   I watch the wife.   They are Muslim: … More Jefferson Square

In a courtyard lit by the sun, Greco-Roman body parts Are pedestaled around a tiled pool. Here, the coiffed head of a woman, There, a lithe leg or muscled arm, And everywhere, torsos of either sex. Beneath a severed wing, We stand at the entrance facing them, As if before dismemberment Our bodies too were … More The Docents