Baby’s REM state

Someone upstairs drills silence.
He is changing mosaic of living .

Baby cannot follow fan moving.
Its creak vanishes in drill sound.

She tells mom we will go to roll
In middle of bed in sea side flat,

After noon when there is silence
And she can follow fan’s moving

Here there is a sea wind at door
And see, how eyes flutter about

Dreams in them moving rapidly.
Stomach feels like milky world.


Laughing gas

Milky laughter behind eyelids
Seems to rotate like silky stars

As though her recent new life
Is laughing matter in her belly.

She may not be existentialist,
Crinkling eyes at old sunlight,

A sun and a moon conflating
Darkness in her inner eyeballs

Or too much milk in stomach
Or excess moonshine in a sky

As moon plays hide and seek
with cloud in full view of sea.

She is merely burping her gas
Says mom who is sleeping by.

Slow river

We could re-enact a formal pain
Like when it happened last year

Or some centuries ago, a formal
Event inside the stone of nerves

Nerves grown dumb like tombs
That froze marble for dead wife.

Formal feeling is made of stone,
As our hands and feet are froze,

Wife or son or bleeding prophet,
We freeze sorrow in a slow river

The way glacier flows and melts
Bodies shall flow with no clutter.

(Reading Emily Dickinson’s poem “After a great pain a formal feeling comes”)

Umbrellas in park bench

Six umbrellas sit on the bench.
A rain is falling on all of them.

Two umbrellas dark as a night,
Join them at the green bench.

Sea sits behind them, in green.
A sky stands behind it in blue.

Sea has no umbrella above it.
Being high, a sky has neither.

Rain beats down on umbrellas.
They have to leave the bench.

The bench has no umbrellas.
It is now wet with the rainfall.

Umbrellas , folded and home,
Are dripping with a memory.