Kyle

I look out my window and what do I see? A large grizzly bear coming to visit me Oh Lord, please change that bear's direction He's not invited and I don't want his affections

I look again out my window and what do I see? A large black bear standing next to an oak tree I was taught to be polite when company arrives But this uninvited guest has taken me by surprise

I look again out my window and what do I see? A large black bear preparing to take his leave There are many grizzly bears in these here hills But I ain't Goldie Locks and these bears are for real

Monday mornings Grandma rose an hour early to make rye, onion & challah, but it was pumpernickel she broke her hands for, pumpernickel that demanded cornmeal, ripe caraway, mashed potatoes & several Old Testament stories about patience & fortitude & for which she cursed in five languages if it didn’t pop out fat //as an apple-cheeked peasant bride//. But bread, after all, is only bread & who has time to fuss all day & end up with a dead heart if it flops? Why bother? I’ll tell you why. For the moment when the steam curls off the black crust like a strip of pure sunlight & the hard oily flesh breaks open like a poem pulling out of its own stubborn complexity a single glistening truth & who can help but wonder at the mystery of the human heart when you hold a slice up to the light in all its absurd splendor & I tell you we must risk everything for the raw recipe of our passion.

dreamed that i was old, in stale declension Fallen from my prime, whe company Was mine, cat-nimbleness, and green invention Before time took my leafy hours away

My wisdom, ripe with body's ruin, found Itself tart recompense for what was lost In false exchange, since wisdom in the ground Has no apocalypse or Pentecost

I wept for my youth, sweet passionate young though And cozy women dead that by my side Once lay, I wept with bitter longing, not Remembering how in my youth i cried