seeking
Above
granite bowls. They boil like witches’ cauldrons.
Boulders caught in the turmoil measure time
being ground from granite to coarse-grained sand.
The swimmer surprised by the vortex has no time
to contemplate the laws of physics, needs the measure
of another breath. Without it his hands, torso, veins,
might soon match the coldness of quartz coursing
through the riverbed’s skin. Gravity part of his
belief system, he needs to shed this water like snake skin.
WINDOWS
They keep out the angular rain,
protect our dollars in banking institutions.
Through another I bet on a sorrel gray horse.
Purportedly there are more portals
than we can count: consider the windows
to a woman’s soul. And while
office towers are routinely sealed, Parisians love
to plant window boxes, leave open
their windows even when the gates
of heaven are heavily guarded. So what
if a few burglars crawl into our lives,
slip between the laundered sheets and stay,
pretend-snoring, refusing to be wakened?
It’s hard to quarrel with windows open,
all that bird life seeping in. Some risks
must be taken, consider the miracle,
the window through which you were born.