Today, a poet died
Because he lost all of his questions.
Somewhere in France, a tire exploded,
Delaying a young girl's tour.
She’s burst tears,
Caving around a fistful of euros
As she senses lost moments
Just over the next hill
Floating, a red balloon.
There she imagines Joan of Arc,
A bicycle thief and Jacques Cousteau.
A street that's been there
Elsewhere, a little boy becomes an artist
As he sniffs his first jar of tempera
Handed out by a young teacher from Hokkaido
Unaware of the seventy two tubes of oil paint
He will use in his entire lifetime.
Today, I'm waving at a crow in Como Park
As if my hands were semaphore flags
Signaling "Hello," like a transient grey alien
Wondering what a bird has to do to become
reincarnated as a writer the next time around.
Yesterday, a girl I knew changed her hair color
Insisting it made a difference, handing me
An antique birdcage she found in the street
Its curved door broken off, a rusty smile for
Curious dogs who don't know what to make of it,
Howling in a Frogtown alley devoid of poetry.
From On The Other Side Of The Eye, 2007