Hurdy-gurdy


Lübeck, perhaps, or Ravenna –
          out of the way,
The sort of town not found in a
          moment or day,

But a place you drift to, after
          the tourists leave
And shutters close. No more laughter,
          nothing to grieve,

Only at dusk the cobbled square,
          and the harsh drone –
One of the old ones, standing there,
          playing alone.




Memory


A cave – not one with figures thrown
          against the wall
By hidden fire, but drawn on stone,
          by torchlight – all

Turned phantom in a chamber where
          we dare not seek
Re-entry. Taken in, that air
          might cloud or streak

Those colors – as when dreams parade
          not what was true
But what is left of that charade
          we thought we knew.




Oneiric


The stationmaster waves his lamp;
          a whistle blows.
The engine’s unrelenting stamp
          obeys, and slows,

The cars draw up along a track
          immersed in steam.
The steps fold down, men hurry back
          and forth. The gleam

Of lights within cannot explain 
          the curtains drawn,
The voices calling now – this train
          you must get on.




Snapshot


That shows you, long ago, captured
          like any fly
In amber – magically assured
          you’d never die

And were in fact entitled to 
          this triumph – fish
Held up, a nylon cable through
          its gills, its wish

To be, denied. Gone, from those eyes, 
          all light except
What, turned to amber, would disguise
          this other debt.



​
Traces


Intermittently returned – times
          half remembered,
Disconsolate nights – broken lines,
          unassembled

Fragments – moments that never were?
          Sounds that begin
Deep in shadow; weathercock stirs
          in a cold wind

Passing through. Something would speak, in
          languages gone,
But finds no trace of what has been,
          and hurries on.