Turning Points

Perspective The years sliced away the green and gritty part–– the part that mattered. Shadows melted into one another Indistinguishable. At each turn, there was your voice. Looking back it is even less clear. Out of some vast dream of cloud or fire You were there always–– Somewhere at the end of me.   Michelangelo as a Boy Soft and fleshy Michelangelo still a boy–– Trailing his hand across water–– hugging the warm fur of a dog, Cutting an apple in slices being ordinary. Even then could he feel it? The breath of earth, clay alive in his hand, the warmth of sun on rock, The angel in the stone.   Morning Moon Sometimes there is a morning moon Paler than at night As if it has just lifted away out of its shell And been forgotten somewhere. The stars are startled, And are searching for her.   Gargoyles of Notre Dame Etched into the decay of stone handiwork are traces of lace porous and tinged the color of smoke. And overlaid on the great scowling faces the architecture of spiders has left a loose gray scarf blowing east toward La Salette. It is justifiable here to feel the pulse racing, the pity and the longing. Inside the Virgin is sleeping. From pinnacle to pinnacle the small birds fly.   Why I Can’t Love You There is ponderous you, the one lost in books and schedules and calendars. There is serious you who wants me to believe in everything. There is serious me knowing you have roots nowhere. There is impossible you believing that love is myth and always decipherable. And, then, there is the small, hard gumdrop of your heart.   God Poem We can seep down to the roots of things to the grand immaculate fibers Where God is In the well of shiny water where He rests his feet against the cool stones. He is everywhere. The angels fly out of heaven hot and white like lightning over snow. The wind of heaven Is alive with light.