If only we danced —it
the Messiah on land

If only we sang —it
a Peace was at hand

If only we hugged—-it
Kings read the Greeks

If only we kissed it
extended French weeks

If only we loved —it
an Armistice parade

If only we hugged —it
free fallen lemonade

If only we caressed—-it

If only we rested—
being Distant dream

If only we blessed —it
weekends in a row I hear

If only we missed —it
the Paradise exit so near


In the early morning rage
a helpless quest
for ill-contorted shoes

In the daily afternoon’s wage
lunge and recoil
at tied time bound to lose

In the often night of age
uneasy excursions
(psst—“snooze that stays the snooze”)

In the praying midnight tolls
a semi-smile believed in
the toucing beauty of the muse

For Most

For most in my thought,
in my thought-stream’s
little splashes,

no pads of semi-permanence lie
in wait,

For most in my dream’s
life, in my went years
seen scaling up skies, I

have not substance to match
with wavering

For you,

on one end of love’s
radii-firmament, of physics
and company
burrowing through

the heart-set sense
of reconciliatory

for you

what I have
is yours alone, except
when mine

and still
in the original.