[… composing from Vallejo]

Posted on June 10, 2010


I wonder what she is doing?

Not has done, will do.

Now in this moment

that turns like a lock

in the somersault

of a mood’s space –

that leaves me in this empty place

thinking of a human face.

I wonder where she is driving or if she is just sitting

doing nothing, intent and lost in a quiet

moment or what she is now thinking of

who I am thinking of


with her

two feet, two hands, one face, one brow

her charm

her ways

in the light of this present night

with its stolen eternity?

With her sharp walk, and quick take

I recall a faint idea of change in me through her.

I wonder what she is doing

Now that this fatigue has killed my desire

to find my way alone

and I stare at the distance.

I wonder where the bow of her body

is aimed in the shadows.

And I think: likely she is at the back door

of her house in its quiet street

in the cold of her pride for just a private second

maybe a little tense; and I think that

she stares up at the night sky and says

at a vixen bark

“Oof it’s raining.”

An arrow, merely an arrow and a bow

but the arrow with nowhere to go.

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