Feeding My Passion

Is it 5 yet?
When will the sun start to
glow against my closed winter window?
I may stay up to give myself time
to do what I want, which is very little
anyway, but it is my breath, and I
want to be awake for it or
I may be crazy,
certainly sleep deprived
and quietly the morning comes
and they stir out there
they have missed it
all these hours
I have kept watch for them
and they will keep watch for me
while I finally slide under the sheets and
get too little sleep again

not old enough to know
my nightmares of regret
doubt
grief
accumulating like mercury
of lost time and love
of fears that compare meanly
to theirs of the dark or of
height or being lost

getting back to
those simple nightmares
would be a pleasure
theirs are fears of moments
when they have only moments
theirs vanish when the light goes on

i have longer fears
with longer fingers
which reach across the octaves
of years and squeeze me
when i am awake

I thought of this while watching The Road, again proving to me that the two major inspirations for me are darkness and light.

Seeing as how it’s the 200th anniversary of Poe’s birth, and Halloween yesterday, and the occasion of my moving, there’s a perfect convergence. Of course the line “Nevermore!” would normally sum up my feelings about moving, but this time has been pretty damn easy. First of all, I don’t really have much stuff. After all the moving I’ve done over the last couple of years, I’ve pared down quite a bit and I won’t be taking much to California. And I’ll be taking even less, much less, to S. Korea when I go there to teach.  I’m getting rid of almost my entire pantry, which is not inconsiderable.

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This was supposed to be the summer
We were going to pick blueberries.
I, with my trained and stained fingers,
Would find the ripest, sweetest, juiciest berry in the whole patch
So dark and ready, almost purple
Almost candy
And feed it

to you as if in slow motion, watching
It slip between your teeth.
You close your eyes, and through your mouth,
You smell its sun-drenched candy blueness.
POW it bursts with so little pressure
And your beautiful face, sun-drenched and smiling,
Your eyes still closed, you taste the bright joy,
We can both still taste it
Even now