Porchlight
It was a fine, chill night rain
of dark drops that fell almost unnoticed
until they landed with tiptoes
to shiver silver and soft in the porchlight,
tiny beads like a mote's tears
that reflected, each one, the broad night
and the small, warm point of yellow light
on their delicate round mirror faces
-- 1990
Not Much
I was feeling like not much at all,
except maybe a lifeless rock lying hot in the desert sun,
or maybe the thin gray watery oatmeal
that goes neglected at the edge of the pot
-- I was feeling like not much at all,
except not good,
because the few stars showed wan and flat on the pallid sky
through the smog and lit night of the city,
because Orion's scabbard and the Pleiades
did not shine like glittering double handfuls of jewels
on fire in all the blackness,
but rather were much like
only two or three drops of watery milk
on a tacky and worn, pale plastic blue tablecloth
-- 1989
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