Category Archives: Daily Offerings

The Forecast for Night Showers, though their rhythms may be Interrupted by wind and gusts Will not cease in the dark hours They should continue until first light. Going to sleep one imagines a dance With interruptions, a shouldering A … Continue reading →

Full Moon She was wearing the coral taffeta trousers Someone had brought her from Ispahan, And the little gold coat with pomegranate blossoms, And the coral-hafted feather fan; But she ran down a Kentish lane in the moonlight, And skipped … Continue reading →

 Days Each one is a gift, no doubt, mysteriously placed in your waking hand or set upon your forehead moments before you open your eyes. Today begins cold and bright, the ground heavy with snow and the thick masonry of … Continue reading →

Spring To what purpose, April, do you return again? Beauty is not enough. You can no longer quiet me with the redness Of little leaves opening stickily. I know what I know. The sun is hot on my neck as … Continue reading →

Whatif Last night, while I lay thinking here, some Whatifs crawled inside my ear and pranced and partied all night long and sang their same old Whatif song: Whatif I’m dumb in school? Whatif they’ve closed the swimming pool? Whatif … Continue reading →

Up-Hill Does the road wind up-hill all the way?   Yes, to the very end.Will the day’s journey take the whole long day?   From morn to night, my friend.But is there for the night a resting-place?   A roof for … Continue reading →

What We WantWhat we wantis never simple.We move among the thingswe thought we wanted:a face, a room, an open bookand these things bear our names-now they want us.But what we want appearsin dreams, wearing disguises.We fall past, holding out our … Continue reading →

The ThinkerMy wife’s new pink slippers have gay pom-poms.There is not a spot or a stainon their satin toes or their sides.All night they lie together under the bed’s edge.Shivering I catch sight of themand smile, in the morning.Later I watch … Continue reading →

Another Poem About My FatherI don’t get poetry either. Mostly I get cavities,ad mail. Once, I got eleven hundred dollarsin small change from my father for Christmas.He said, you’ve got to work for your money-meaning you’ve got to haul it through … Continue reading →

I take your T-shirt to bed again . . .  and by now it has almost lost its scent-your scent, as when you were here and turned towards the wall while I pressed my bodyinto your body and sighed, “You smell … Continue reading →