Poet Laundry: A Poem is Where You Find It

Wednesday, August 7, 2019

Carillon Point

It wasn’t the briny olives,

the creamy fromage.

It wasn’t the tender duck confit.

It wasn’t even the cascade

of twilight on harbored boats

on which we imagined

ourselves adventuring.

It was you, in your fisherman sweater,

blue-green eyes sparkling,

hooking deep to give me back

my heart and bones,

returning all my loss, tossed

in the fracturing, titanic wind,

holding me to my dreams

and why I’d dreamt them.

Friday, April 1, 2016

Milling about

the door,

while the garden lights

were swaying

and the moon was high,

this poem

found itself

arriving,

sweet spices

on rainpetal skin

from spring's unfurling trees.

And what was I to do, little poem?

Of course, I swept you in.

Poet Laundry