There


Where magic brings us back from dreams,
where the morning begins to open
and all the birds to sing,
where the sun lifts dew from the grasses,
where silence finds its meaning --

there.
Take off your everyday face.
Put on the real one.




Woman with her Sister at the Clinic


Unloads the wheelchair
    from the trunk of the car.
Inserts the supports
    for someone's legs.
Moves it to the passenger door
    and locks the wheels.
Her sister hands out
    her purse, a bag, a jacket.
Stands so very slowly
    before she pivots.
The woman with her sister
    at the clinic
is not in any hurry.
    Love is patient,
is kind, is understanding.
    Helps her sister on
with her coat.
    Unlocks the wheels
of the wheelchair.
    Pushes her sister
at easy pace
    towards the front door.
Never once a suggestion
    time is wasting.
Sun shines on
    the both of them,
then they roll
    into shadow.
She is my sister,
    the woman would say.
She ain't
    heavy.




To Stanley Plumly from the Corner of Washington & West


Any street corner in your fair city,
Fifth & 94th will do. Here it is
Washington and West, where our house
sits. You've told us of that woman's grief,
and hers is universal. I tell of one
small bird, broken in the winter storm,
a particular bird in this place and,
some would say, not worth much notice.

Yet how can we not resent such blindness?
You know this dead bird doesn't need your
blessing. I know the woman's sorrow
doesn't need mine. We both feel the loss
on any corner, at the edge of winter,
at the edge of sky which reaches beyond
the thousand windows blurring above us,
far beyond the back of this forever.