Bananas

the voters
are made to stand in line
their birth their being
questioned answers lost
questioned again if you want to
vote in the State
of
Florida

Goblin (#39)

Thumbprints wash off.
One saint is still humming
in girlhood, in kitchens.
In the evening I would pray
washing up to the elbows.
If we were really good —
trout cooked in yellow cornmeal.
Thumbs gritty with last bites

Pilgrimage: 38 Days: An Exquisite Purity

your kisses left thumbprints on my heart
visible only to those who know where to look
the visible scarification of the words in your letters
a conversation of pain as we tried to breathe
life into moments as delicate as fronds
inscribed with a language known only to saints
we knew what it was to sin
not pride or lust but idolatry
the placing of certain glances precise embraces
above the gods
we believed only in each other and shadows
lengthening in the cold October

Corner Café

no bicycles or strollers
today it's too cold
or looks like it may be cold
they don't want to risk it
we can choose any table and do
sipping lattés that are not
quite hot enough

How Many Miles?

I drove almost four thousand miles
back and forth over the alkali flats
of the Mojave the scrub pine
hills of Tierra Amarilla up and down
La Bajada over rivers
precious minutes spent as the
sun bleached the car tanned my skin
and melted the tight coil of my spine

Giving Name to

unwavering poems marked by flirtation, 
anger, praise and 
forgiveness poured into vases of roses 
encircling an icon, 
blessed with The Shape of Caught Water

How many weeks?

we count back to vacations
forward to the next holiday
or the coming election
we wonder if there is enough time
and why the afternoon drags on
and where the evening has flown
when will the night begin
so we can close our eyes
and forget the Clock