Two Poems in December

Night like a sheet lifting,
In thin light we lie still,
Beasts resting on in this
Golden fog of first day;
Warm arms soon vine, sifting
Slack flesh for the supple,
Sudden pleasure, each wish
Fulfilled before it’s made

Written in Rain
Like children’s footsteps, pit-pat on the pane.
Does this rain touch your skin that I cannot?
Cloudy eyes, storm-swaddled planets,
Search the blackwetblurred reflection—
Visages come. Yes, but not the sought one.


Wind! Oh! The wind hurts the window—the storm has arrived!
Rain! Coat! The rain coats the raincoats of all those outside!
Foot! Steps! Each foot steps its footsteps in a muddy path!
Clean! Up! The storm lifts clay clean up to clean up the tracks!