January

Outer Moment

I only had to tell you this,

the way it only has

to rain

when I am finishing

an errand.

If I bid for love—

if that is what I did,

an outer moment only

could intrude

to tell me I'm

in love already.

This is what I cannot do

with you—

if I must be

an outer moment,

I am just another

you will turn away.

And if the bids

I thought you made

were not like mine at all,

and I am not

within your mind,

then I could only make my bid,

and go.

If it rains,

I will know.

Nights Reprise

Of all the nights I used to

leave from your apartment

in the snow,

in the dark and blue,

waiting in the wind that blew

beneath the roofs

of all the nights I used to

look within myself

too much,

too soon, alone

and steal my way back home

to seal myself away

for all the nights I’d

wonder who I was again

or what I stood for,

who I meant to be

when I’d look back

on all the nights I wouldn’t

take them back,

but view, as still and true

above the roofs,

exactly who I was

and who I’d come to be

from all the lonely nights

that came to me—

The Spirit Stirs

Somewhere

in this winter

the spirit stirs.

Not a thing that stills

or settles

like the fallen snow

and covered things

below,

the spirit moves,

I’ve seen it flicker

by my window;

and after all this time

I’ve stayed beside

the window

at my bedside,

ready for a sign

of spirit,

lying like a hunting cat

in wait

whose breath and senses slow

and muscles tense

toward a single goal,

I yield at last

and stand

to shake my weak

and tired limbs,

and feel a stirring—

not my own,

I’m sure, unless

I’m only learning

that the spirit stirs

in searching for itself,

and moving me,

as I have moved myself—