...A smile drips from the face of the sky
like runny old people food --- it forms
a wet ribbon that is dawn
and looks like oatmealThe sky
is full of oatmeal todayI’m spooning

my life from its slippery foamI’m
dancing the moon, I’m not ready
to diedancing my holinessdancing
my woedancing my solitudemy extravagant
economydancing to the end of loveBelow me

the world frowns itself deeper
into its sleeping bleached darkWho will
come with me to the dance?

Wasn’t it you who lived inside the sweet flesh
of the clouds with me?Wasn’t it you
who danced with me in our cabin
of the wind?Didn't we sing with the rain
in its beaded halls? Oh here

I go againgathering my winters
in the old kit bagcatching those wayward
spinning prayersI’m riding the blue pony
to the danceI'm watching the hazel eyes
of the morning from the roofI found
a nut clam in the shape of a parade ...

From "Slow Dance on Stilts"
La Jolla Poets Press, © 2001