Aftermath 

 

I have consumed  

my last meal— 

it spirals in my gut 

like a galaxy  

spinning off motes  

that will last forever-- 

or at least until morning, 

which is bound 

to come sooner. 

[LSS, 7/26/20] 

 

Recurring Dream 

 

Don’t wake yourself  

from this dream— 

instead, enter the old narrative,  

move the mountains, the rivers,  

the windows and doors,  

like Colorforms on a plastic board, 

and play a new story. 

[LSS, 7/25/20] 

 

H/ear 

  

late afternoon light through tilted slats 

background sound of falling rain, or 

the refrigerator motor kicking in 

  

waking fully clothed on the bed 

Middlemarch turned face down 

centering on hexagram 61, 中孚, zhōng fú 

which translates as ‘center returning,’ or ‘inner truth’ 

  

I say this as the refrigerator/rain reaches silence 

tinnitus returns, the endless refrain 

of the truthful inner ear’s ducts and cochlea  

  

impossible to fall asleep again 

with a twenty-four/seven/three sixty-five song 

ruining silence and meditative calm 

[RK, 7/22/2020] 

 

 

U-Turns 

  

I pass through the same intersection  

three times in rush hour traffic 

where Highway 19 and Curlew intersect 

  

clerks and store managers are polite 

body language expressing what  

coronavirus facial coverings hide 

it is a pleasure doing business with you 

I’ll have to return, to drop off, to pick up 

to turn tail and chase my tail 

  

hexagram 24, 復, fù, which translates as  

‘return (the turning point)’ 

yes, yes, and yes again 

I attempt to leap ahead  

with everything I do, instead 

predictions skew and sabotage  

an evenly measured one quarter  

of anything I do, and like clean, white bones 

the days precipitate 

a slow, steady fall into a tight spiral  

wound counterclockwise 

[RK, 7/20/2020] 

 

Mimic 

  

pleasure taken watching the downspout water 

flow away from the building 

in a newly dug shallow trench 

rain no longer leaks in at the edge 

where decades-old cinderblock and slab 

met, married, separated, and divorced 

  

obviously this is hexagram 59, 渙, huàn 

which translates as ‘dispersing’ 

  

not the first time I’ve witnessed the way water 

reflects inner thoughts, a natural honest mirror 

even as it shudders, mimics Gulf of Mexico tides 

vanishes in kudzu, palmetto, mangrove 

  

even as we meet, mimic, mirror  

drain, divide, and disperse 

our individual substantial flows 

[RK, 7/18/2020] 

 

 

Yucatan 

  

along this Gulf of Mexico shoreline  

away from bathers and fenced off turtle nests 

the beach runs south to north 

 

bleached mangrove twigs form 

dead gardens, a jab-at-you sharpness 

juts away from the waves 

a spit of land, course soil a hurricane 

could submerge without effort 

whelk shards, crab holes 

stringy seaweed bundles define high tides  

  

on the intercoastal side 

boats tote red and white fishermen 

they ignore sea and sky 

focus on sonar, hardware, gasoline 

fish are an afterthought 

  

this construct of motors, consumerism, and 

Mammon’s daily ritual offerings 

outweighed by relentless waves 

from the Yucatan Peninsula 

[RK, 7/17/2020] 

 

Routes 

 

another ill-planned emotional-intellectual road trip  

we lack paper maps, geo-synchronous satellites, cell phone towers 

adequate service station restrooms 

an extra windshield wiper, I bring up 

hexagram fifty-five, 豐, fēng, which translates as ‘abundance’ or ‘abounding’ 

  

‘abundance,’ which you translate as literally ‘everything’ 

from electrons to galactic clusters and whatever falls in between 

this inevitably brings me around to the possible singularity 

at the possible beginning of literally everything 

  

I translate ‘abounding’ to mean leaping forward  

sideways, backwards, straight up in the wind 

cloud, atmosphere, solar system, Milky Way 

galactic cluster, where we continually agree to meet 

  

I just have a different way of getting there 

[RK, 7/13/2020] 

 

Balance 

 

fair is the fare for six hundred and ten days 

I scale you scale, we all scale a fail whale 

of a good time 

the watchword for eighty-seven weeks is 

hexagram two, 坤, kūn, which translates as ‘receptive’ or ‘flow’ 

  

I imagine a channel or conduit, narrow, shallow 

the flow as solid and interminable as the Suwannee River 

rarely and terribly fast 

often sluggish, often still, and 

in that still, stagnant space only one thing can happen 

perfect balance, the Western concept of a ‘Zen’ state 

where nothing ever happens 

[RK, 7/13/2020] 

 

Posture 

  

midday brings two mockingbirds speeding 

do they see themselves reflected in window glass? 

or did chance bring them to a particular place? 

  

on the ground they posture with inordinate language 

without touching, with intent, without conclusion  

I’m incapable of discerning mating from fighting 

[RK, 7/2/20] 

 

Instrument of Grace 

  

I still play the fluted edge of the crystal bowl  

as though it were a piano, just as my mother  

did when she was a child, and my grandmother  

before that in Prague, and probably  

the glassblower, too, in the old country   

before the final test to see how long  

it would sustain this lovely note. 

[LSS, 6/30/20] 

 

Bird Song 

  

An aggregate of notes 

pave the Sunday afternoon sky, 

leading you into a world 

where you are complicit, 

not complacent, when doing 

nothing.  

[LSS, 6/29/20] 

 

 Armchair Warrior 

  

She threatens to beat 

the leather chair 

into submission 

unless it stops 

demanding her 

undivided attention. 

[LSS, 6/28/20] 

 

Funeral Pyre for the Married Mushrooms 

  

The two shelf mushrooms on the log 

lean into one another for just a moment 

before erupting into a single flame— 

we, their avatars, watch from our camp chairs  

trying to stay warm. 

[LSS, 6/27/20] 

 

Natural Progression 

  

Be careful how you   

set your intentions:  

Doing nothing  

you will regret  

can easily devolve  

into doing nothing. 

[LSS, 6/26/20] 

 

When the Rain 

  

laptops and power cords unplugged 

another day gathered into memory 

rain pounds the evening into silence 

pounds the first week of summer into silence 

  

never mind the steamy roof heat 

never mind the hoof beats, steady 

the shuttered eyes, already 

one day closer 

[RK, 6/26/20] 

 

Pinching Weeds 

  

There are some weeds I leave 

untouched, allowing them to grow 

and overtake the ugly things 

I never should have planted. 

[LSS, 6/25/20] 

 

Thread 

  

ant, I think, and slap a bundle of paper  

on the windowsill 

she flows like an octopus 

equal to a twelve point font letter ‘o’ 

runs behind a wall calendar 

Carmel gave me, June 

is a photo of a hummingbird  

who eyes the spider, sideways  

  

half an hour later she returns 

dangles from raised blinds 

reacts only to a breath 

and pulls herself up the thread 

  

oblivious to my objective consciousness 

oblivious to my existence 

[RK, 6/24/20] 

 

Clinical Note 2 

 

While not loud enough  

for larger performances, 

the clavicle, when gently struck 

with a mallet, will produce  

a reliable tone often needed 

when attempting to reset  

the proper rhythm of the heart. 

[LSS, 6/24/20] 

 

Morning Reading 

 

The discrete pond 

in the punt of each  

overturned wine glass 

in the steamy dishwasher — 

 

the juncos dropping seeds  

like notes in minor keys 

on the bare ground  

beneath the feeder— 

 

the garden writing  

paragraphs of weeds  

praising my indifference, 

inviting me to stay  

inside a little longer. 

[LSS, 6/23/20] 

 

Bad Dog 

 

vivid end-of-the-world-as-I-know-it fantasies 

fill bright mornings and sleepless nights 

the fear of abandonment always present 

clearly, logically 

imagining and then waiting for the deal-breaker 

am I manifesting or merely prescient? 

teetering between self-recrimination, 

I-told-you-so, and a spiritual helium lift 

 

look at the well-heeled dog 

punishing himself 

for being a dog 

[RK, 6/21/20] 

 

Ensō 

 

  

[RK, 6/20/20] 

 

New Moon, Summer Solstice, Yajna 

 

I burn thirty-eight pieces of paper  

repeat phrases until the smoldering stops 

sixty minutes pass 

a baby rabbit hops around the altar 

I catch myself, distracted 

 

will my messages to myself 

be sleek and nibble grass? 

will file card smoke cling to me? 

will your ears perk up? 

will you know I wrote your name 

nineteen times? 

[RK, 6/20/20] 

 

Useless 

 

untenable images in the middle of the night 

I construct a paradigm from whole cloth 

create 16 mm home movies of the mind 

grainy, stuttered, full of central casting 

wanna-be actors 

fulfilling fears and phobias  

a writer’s need for drama 

a publicist’s need for thwarted romance 

an editorial need for closure 

[RK, 6/20/20] 

 

Anima 

 

storms build, roll in gradually and persistently  

today’s forecast is for níłtsą́ bi'áád, a female rain 

it starts soft, produces St. Elmo's fire  

electrifies the lightning rod of the heart 

scorches my anima at three a.m. 

leaves me grasping handfuls of interwoven 

will-o'-the-wisps 

[RK, 6/20/20] 

 

Clinical Note 

 

In an emergency, a spatula  

can be used as a scalpel;  

however, a scapula  

should never be used  

as a sharpening stone. 

[LSS, 6/20/20] 

 

The Calculus of Silence 

 

The mathematician  

in the world 

of ten thousand things,  

points to the stars and says  

nothing, because 

the mathematician 

in the world  

of ten thousand things  

is marvelled  

not by words,  

but by the world 

of ten thousand things. 

[LSS, 6/20/20] 

 

Supermarket 

 

Elderly shoppers divert their eyes  

from the milk and cheese 

to the wedding party making its way 

down the dairy aisle.  

 

As soon as the party moves on   

to fresh fruit, the shoppers begin  

to squirm at their carts, feel hungry 

in their shabby clothes. 

 

At home, the shoppers unload their bags 

and find their refrigerator and pantry shelves  

are already filled with rocks and shells  

and there is no need for food. 

[LSS, 6/18/20] 

 

Flow 

 

I’m rotten Latin passages in Pepys’ diary 

locked into a solitude box 

shelved with Pandora and Schrödinger 

I’m long distant pen pals with Kafka  

patiently waiting for Kierkegaard to adopt me 

 

tides rise and fall in the mind 

the heart is a contrapuntal melody 

an orchestra triangle balances out 

timpani, trombones, trumpets 

 

tusks intervene, teeth, talons 

trickster coyote throws lit firecrackers 

Anansi patiently waits his turn 

 

I’m scrimshaw, seashells, flotsam, jetsam  

narwhal tooth, ambergris, whalebone 

yellowed, crackled, cracked 

jammed into drawers stuck shut 

in a museum of natural history 

[RK, 6/17/20] 

 

Emoji 

 

breakfast and lunch, skipped 

afternoon cup of coffee, added 

internal organs pace in a constrained space 

I (strong exhale) 

cut a swath in the emotional rug 

record a switched flight number 

fool myself that I remain calm 

waiting for the day to resolve 

while I watch without participating  

in the resolution 

 

for the nth time I throw 

hexagram sixty-four 

wèi jì, before completion 

discover there is no emoji 

for cool as a cucumber 

[RK, 6/16/20] 

 

Clarity 

 

abstracted from the daily environment 

I move into my personal domains 

delineate new borders in my mind 

not sure if they will be accepted 

 

like cold air, simple distance brings clarity 

analogies include 

microscopes, telescopes, periscopes, prisms 

prisons, perambulations  

itineraries once thought undoable 

become worn paths replete with  

trail markers and hillside riprap 

 

friends listen, empathize, refrain from commenting 

everyone deep in their own comfort zones 

your response might be irrelevant 

 

I imagine bones broken and healed  

crookedly 

X-rays only show 

tendons and muscles 

sore from running errands 

[RK, 6/15/20] 

 

The Witch in the Woods 

 

Every hungry hour  

listening  

for crumbs to fall,  

clearing  

deadwood from the trail, 

waiting  

for any lost thing 

to find her home. 

[LSS, 6/14/20] 

 

Nighthawk 

 

I part air-conditioned  

aluminum foil curtains 

leave the internet behind 

enter the expansive natural world 

this humid subtropical Florida evening 

 

clouds move with palm frond grace, 

glacial certainty 

gadabout, glisten 

puffball, peach 

 

a single nighthawk 

soars, swoops, shimmies 

in golden ratio spirals 

teases, taunts, tut-tuts  

reminds me of necessary, needful 

early summer obligations 

[RK, 6/13/20] 

 

On Reading the Ox-Herding Poems 

 

What the master  

doesn’t tell you 

is that the ox has fleas  

and runs away at night. 

[LSS, 6/13/20] 

 

Black Glass Snake 

 

black glass snake, tenuous, sensible  

curled beneath squash blossoms 

startled by the cull of dead vines 

reminding, reinforcing, repeating 

 

I rake around her 

both of us uncertain  

yet tolerant 

she curdles beneath a gate 

leaves a burnished memory 

[RK, 6/12/2020] 

 

Damocles  

 

a tri-colored heron walks past a window 

curry paste turns the rice yellow 

dishes angled into a drying rack 

reflective saucepan lids, beaded water 

tilted, pensive  

 

this structural crease in an otherwise 

complacent day 

pleated repeatedly like cloth 

ready for the dye bath 

dodging thoughts buried in the folds 

 

heron gone, rice cold 

dishes put away 

 

anticipating  

accepting existential 

text messages 

[RK, 6/12/20] 

 

Song Sparrow 

 

Sharp grammar demanding  

the hour be well spent  

or risk regret.  

How many other ways 

to spell sorrow? 

[LSS, 6/12/20] 

 

Waiting for Mail 

 

Yellow leaf rising. 

Yellow leaf falling. 

Yellow leaf holding its breath. 

[LSS, 6/11/20] 

 

First Light 

 

The sword fern bends 

beneath the beating 

of hummingbird wings— 

an infinity of nows.

[LSS, 6/10/20]