Published by Ricardo and Isabel Nirenberg since 1998
Wind from the blizzard makes
the rocking chair on the porch
rock. Think nothing of it--
just the ghost of summer.
The locomotive steam bursts into the night
like a vagrant ghost that leaves in flight.
Far away, the clouds of childhood drift above.
Now I see the love I did not know was love.
goes out to search.
The heart will trip and fall,
but still runs after--waving like
are deep oceans.
In them we are pulled down.
Lift me, because I don't know how
Time. Flesh to flesh embraces.
No matter, then. We had our own
The bus window
is all wet with diamonds.
Now they scurry down--bright little
Gone far away.
The train speeds through gray rain
and foreign streets that shine like black
flash a warning.
They drive south on Harlem,
led by a sedan of flowers.
makes ripples on
the pond--are they lips or
lashes--hard to tell, not far from
A wind slams the shutter.
The dream of being together breaks.
stare into space
and see wounds everywhere.
Other men by a grace see wounds
reaches and then
opens, you know, like a
door into a bright room that is