No Better Sound
the softest bed I ever laid
like my mind, was never made
some tangled ends, a finger’s tip
life could find no better grip
that work of yours’ a mystery
how restless days pass blissfully
please come to me each afternoon
so I may hold a proper tune
to sing a feeling longer held
the sound of trees we never felled
you watch for love invisibly
and by the pound my flesh is freed
a stranger way in foreign land
will never beat your gentle hand
but trying’s not a native game
so rest assured your place remains
Quarter Drawn
How do you look
at a man you know
will soon die?
A cousin of evident love
between lines
draw a struggle we both face.
I place my hand in deaf arms
hoping those same lines reveal
what disease could not
like what your children were like
when they were still children,
how you feel about London these days,
or the months long voyage
to leave home.
Your sister never escaped
but her grandson’s instinct
with the camera
gave her a long look
at what little we have
and how I looked
the first time we met.