Ashes to Ashes
after an AP photo of lower Manhattan , Sept. 11, 2001

Ash blankets the old graves
in Trinity churchyard.

How hard it is for us to see
given the grain of the film,
given the smoke clouding the lens.

We stumble into the picture
squinting through dust,
holding our breath

straining to focus
on the stones
that have just this second
caught the camera's eye

gritty markers
sticking out of the rubble,
holding their ground
covered with loess.

We lean close
clutching the page
fixing our eyes
on each half-buried plot,
engraving each slab in our minds

even as the photographer
risks our lives

even as the temples
come crashing down around us.

I Like It

I like it
when the weather thickens
wetting us with love--

when the mourning doves
nuzzle on the wire
that beads above the road
and the squirrels fidget
on the black bark of the pines.

We knew setting out
that it was about to rain
but left behind our coats
our hats--

we knew that we'd get soaked
and so we have
and now it's getting dark.

I like your hair like that.

Found Art

Truth

              comes to the surface

                                        hard as stone

The bone

              the ground yields

                                        to a thousand rains.

Beans

Charter's beans are poking through the dirt
right on schedule,
six more weeks and on the plate.

Meanwhile, he'll marinate
them with a squirt
of water, pinch of thumb, occasional

shot of spit: "You don't want to rush
them up the stick
before they get a grip on the ground,"

he likes to say--" a good round
bean's ready to pick
when it's ready. Little nudge but don't push."