Mangos By Telepathy

isn't it true, too

Isn’t it true,

that flaxen haired Sandra

standing on the wooden steps

calling “Haydar!…Haydar!…”

is even better

than the plump gray cat

waddling her way back home?

you have no moon

You and I are desperately complicated.

More complex than the center of the furthest star,

which is, after all, simply radiation and gas.

No, my darling,

you are an infinitely complex array of matter

liquid, solid, and gas,

permeated by electromagnetic charges and ion exchanges,

all in a frenzy of continuous activity and self replication.

Most fantastically, this jumble of matter organizes itself into someone called

“you,” you know, the only you there is.

You know who you are, and you are absolutely unique in

your solitary place of time and space.

But even more fantastic, is that this one here, called  I,

a similarly unusual grouping of macromolecules

locked in their struggle of replication and decay,

sees you.

I see you,

and dream of you,

and am drawn by your charge.

But what I want to know is,

do you exert some kind of gravitational pull, as well?

You have no moon, and don’t need one.

Because in your dark moonless nights my body sleeps,

while my mind lays awake with you inside it

and me

i spin around.

Unanswerable Questions

The moon is back,
and I saw a whole clan of white-tailed deer
scoot through a finger in the clearing between the oaks and pines
up by Granite Spring.

Should I take this as some kind of speckled fecund sign?
As an ornament on a dazzling crown of green prosperity?
Or was it just a hungry family crossing from wood to wood?

Come on now.
Let’s go soak in the sulfurous water.
Let us bathe, if you so desire,
and forget such unanswerable questions.

in the cool shade of blue moon time

the spring holiday was nearly upon us

new buds marked the azaela and beech

while on the porch, in the last rays of dusky sunlight,

you sat, crosslegged, hands in a frenzy

slipping little yellow beads onto thread

with a fine silver clasp at the end

a vintage necklace,

a gift for a dear friend.

swifter, far swifter,

than those hands working

are the synapses of nerves

found in the brain

that struggle with this enemy

who chases me now

in the bright rays of yellow sun shine

and in the cool shade of blue moon time

isnt it true

isnt it true

that sandra imitating the bengal cat trotting

is even more adorable

than the trotting bengal cat

what she said, to her friend, walking home at night.

…Why do you think the earth keeps turning ?
For what reason do you think the moon falls every night into the sea?
Isn’t it so he and I can see each other again?

O! Is that the warbler in the tree!
But what can he tell me I don’t already know?
Isn’t he just wasting his time?

in the crowns of pines

if only i could cover my head like a monk

and walk slowly, eyes to the ground.

but the little birds are so foolish:

they scatter in the crowns of palms and pines

and chirp and chirp

over and over

just because the air smells like rain,

just because the moon’s bright lover returns from his dreams again.