The Dome and Our Lives

"Joe is home now"

I write to you on a marvelous day.

The sun rhapsodizes and snakes dance

The banal waltz in the weather's one alcove.

All trivia seems larger than life: poetry

Is a wild animal breathing down my neck.

I think you think now on fishing and the soul,

Seeing where flies ride doubledeck, and ponder

Contented as a beer on ice, for no need to admit

Anything to yourself now the seduction is over

And you rest on tide of compliant rhythms.

You pose like a bright penny in the sun,

Eye on the principle of happiness and the income.

Many minutes I have slipped into the till,

Many I withdrew with you and never a statement

(Unless some day I compile the report and forward it to you).

Presently the sour hilarity of a Puerto Rican wake

Dogs my bereavement; I cannot hide in my senses.

Wild as witches' spell the breath of you

Gallivants in my environs, not innocent, not cool;

Even swimming is sensual, same and no way of escape.

Fish then, and lullaby the biscuit-grabber;

In extrovert abandon deadline the night

Wherein memory as a gadget wracks destruction-

Which I know, who dissected the past for data,

Who hold introvert seizure of the contrary moment.

Finally I find the conundrum that embraces us

So that though we are lost we are together:

The answer is not outside any of our windows,

It is the draped stranger, the unknown you call George

While I seek an introduction before I die of pride.