Stacked

Exploring the law reminds me of
Tiptoeing through abandoned buildings as a child 
And finding dusty calendars tacked on a wall
With loopy cursive anticipations—

Rotary dial telephones and wooden recipe boxes 

Left for what? Tuesday dinner September 23, 3034?

What is any written record for—

If not for us quietly to explore like children looking for something more 

Than whatever today’s plans hold? 

Do not forget to close the kitchen door 

On your way out. This life is one plate

In a stack on a waiter’s hand that holds a dozen more. 

Scars

When the sun comes up, it'll tear the sky

Like a razor tears a wrist,

But I'll be safe in bed with you

Where every cut is like a kiss.

The broken dish that holds your ring

Neglected on the bedside stand

Curls its jagged edges

Like a fist around an empty hand.

Night by night, when quiet comes

I trace the constellations

Of your scars across the empty space

Of flesh in which they're hung. 

Lone Sparrow

Even the sun call fall in line
Behind her paler sister, 
Crown her princess for the afternoon-- 
The penumbra a diadem for the moon

While on the ground the headstones snatch
Their shadows back into the grave--
The last trill of a lone sparrow echoes
Off the bare spring earth, now strangely closed,

As are all of those who witness
Now the larger darkness spilling
From the sun's humility--

The moon remains the princess
Of the darkness, willingly.