When I awoke

When I awoke,
   a gold hair wrapped around my ear,
      across my neck, and into my mouth.
I had half a mind
   to wind it around a house key and say
      "Here's the rest of you, come back and see me."
Instead, I shook peace
   over breakfast with a spoonful of cinnamon
      and lay down in the grass to doze again.
So I dreamt
   of the Argonaut and a fleece, I set
      full sails and flung my sheets starboard.

When I awoke,
   the story was unwrapped over me,
      and I laughed with my new purpose.
I found you
   on a porch swing and we were lifted
      into the open sea all morning.
I said, "I have no idea
   where my retold odyssey will lead,
      but I love this Ithaca."
You leaned back
   to rest your head, "Ithaca
      also must travel."

After ninety-three years

After ninety-three years of her life
   and twenty-one of mine,
after she learned the date and told stories
   of her children as children,
Grandmother said, "You're a good man–
   you have the integrity of your father."
I bent down and said I hoped so,
   someday at least.

I was afraid to have half a purpose

I was afraid to have half a purpose
     like the bedsheets of a priest
but you just asked if I'd be back
     by dinnertime at least.

I said I'm sorry I lost my way
     and that my voice is going hoarse
but you gave me a smile
     and pointed me back north.

I said I can drive you out of town
     and bake your favorite bread
you laughed and said you didn't care
     as long as we got fed.

I was quiet Monday morning
     while I learned about myself,
but without plan you took my hand
     and put the book back on the shelf.

It's easier to return

It's easier to return. Going away
   I count the telephone poles and dirt turnoffs,
      to find a resting place.
Away, in the cold air and iron chair
   a lion-faith smoker keeps his mouth open
      and his paper hot.
Further, an empty shed, red water,
   and my yellow headlights sign to me
      the night's come.
Further still, an opening between silver maples
   holds our dim voices and the vocals
      of the city.
Again beyond, new forms and a doorman,
   rich for the rest of his shift
      and hopeful yet.
But home has fishing rod arms
   that stretch taut, hook me sharp
      and spin me in.
Since I left, you dressed our house
   in mourning clothes as if it
      had given me up.

Hey old body

Hey old body, here's your chance
to run downhill, headlong with a girl
and feel your knees buckle in.

The past five hours

These past five hours, I dug a dry well
deep into the black loam.  I knew an author
couldn't leave their protagonist so far in the soil.

I heard a vice president tell twenty-seven
weary new captains the half-congratulations of
"I know you didn't mean your career to go this way."

I heard fifty thousand say "I don't mind the pay cuts,
and the days of commuting, but no one's on our side."
So I'll claim you as characters in this story, I'll save you.

Wake up, this is your first act!
Where is your desperation
when you are known?

Before I cashed this morning's check,
my nose bled.  I saw my warm life course away,
and everything was first-person.

It took two hands on my shoulders to turn me back.
It took twenty-one years before I said,
"here is freedom—I dispossess myself."