At eighty the doctor was mercury.
Now I have reached erbium state
I and doctor were in our elements
As we moved through numbers.
At erbium I look forward to gold.
Doctor was Bismuth when dead
Wishing to be no more element.
It is so exhausting to be element.
(remembering Dr.Oliver Sacks on Gratitude)
On other side of the wall
He beams in hospital bed.
He is a die- hard optimist
But let not word get out.
He must cease and desist
From infecting the world
We sound his hollow out.
He is just an optometrist
One who fits rose-tinted
Fashion glasses on nose.
The night drops into a washbasin
With series of quick short sounds,
A plumber’s delight for a Monday
His shadow drops on my Monday
Like big banyan tree in the night
Slowly comprehending darkness.
Drops are like a body’s plumbing
Of our slowly comprehending life.
Bodies bake in kitchens
And in crowded poems.
A poet’s wife bakes too
A skin is fruit ,head sun.
Poet is halo around age
Sprouting his silver hair
To shine a morning sun
With an instant sarcasm.
Let us you and I stand here and stare.
We are staring at a piece of virgin sky.
We take glance at beauty that passes.
Beauty does not stand to return stare.
We stare at its glassy eyes, frosty lips.
We have a leisure ,no beauty to stare .
While a simple note refuses
To open at the end of street
Surely when a sadness dies
A folk tale gets in collection
All mixed up in sea maidens
And eggs that nail the truth
Of what came first , sadness
Or poet at the end of street .
(remembering poet Denis Johnson who died this Wednesday)
3 peaches were two old women
With conversation between them.
The three were ripening peaches
In a golden yellow conversation.
There is not a second peach now
Just a conversation that goes on.