Wednesday, February 22, 2017

On Me

My heart cannot achieve my mind's desires
Because it counsels (oh pernicious mind)
A calming patience that would bank the fires
Of love's frustration. If I could but find
A way to make my heart at last resigned
To know she will return, perhaps I could
In humble patience sit here unrepined.
But no; though I assure myself it would
Be good for nothing but my own self-good
I cannot sit here without fidgeting
In my annoyance that my lover should
Be anywhere but here. Soon she will wing
Her swift way back; but never swift enough
To stop my heart from grumping in a huff.

Sunday, February 19, 2017

Schroedinger

What am I when she is not here? Who knows?
Like cats tortured by scientists I lie
Defined by what an observation shows
But unobserved. And thus I live and die
At once, forever tangled in myself.
The time may move, the clock may tick along
But it is hidden on the cluttered shelf
And I can only guess the hour wrong
Until she's come again. I cannot tell
The chimes of midnight from the luncheon bell
The Geiger counter from the microwave
The muted TV from the silent grave
Until she can return, and see, and make
The quantum sleeper in my soul awake.

Friday, February 10, 2017

Iron

Western New York is pretty nowadays
If you should happen to be fortunate.
Last week's snow is but a shining glaze
On which the sunbeams in their glory sit.
The snow that falls is not a heavy load
The people here are not at all put out
It barely lies at all upon the road
The day's commute is not in any doubt
But walk a mile away and look again
Gaze at the distant treetops if you can
For they are hidden from the sight of men
By lake effect, that in an hour began
And by the hour it leaves us will put down
Several feet of snow. Also the town.