napoleon at sevenan old guitarist sittingnapoleon at seven9 years ago in Surrealism More Like This
on a watercolor hill,
plucking on six strings absent.
two halves of breasts running near
under van gogh's starry night,
under black-white guernica.
everything in all jigsaws,
everything in trepid cubes.
a girl before a mirror
with violin and guitar,
sitting with three musicians
and a woman with her book,
stippling all realities
of intangible maternity.
hours yielding from dalí's clock,
minutes sub-the alchemist
like rain, like raining, like rained—
portraits wilt with abstract smiles.
clear sfumato, oh still life,
napoleon at seven.
Digging through the earthWe pushed our fingernails into the rocks that night:Digging through the earth7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
When you said "I'll miss you,"
and I could hear your voice breaking,
I knew that you loved me;
and when you said you loved me
I knew we were digging
the hole we were standing in.
We're still standing there
in our paleontology: surrounded by broken pottery
and fossils bigger than we are.
Somewhere beneath our feet, though
is the other side of the earth
That's why we keep digging.
I want to be there with you,
if the dirt sinks into my skin,
if I burn away in magma,
if we have to plough through the earth's iron core:
some early morning we will reach down
and our intertwined fingers will break through
up into the daylight.