TUNE TO ME

tune your chord of silence

to my feverish song

not cold and coarse

but as if we were swinging

on those powerlines

in full-voltage silence

now dance to the chord

of my fever, not our fret

the one we knew best

if you recall the ways

turn away as a milky calf

pigheadedly mute, laugh

throw down your instrument

and kiss my unwashed cheek

WHITE SOLITUDE

I don’t know about strength

but the sweetness of solitude

is all in my weak

empty

sponge

of a heart

with the Book of Longing

floating nowhere

on two well-worn pillows