This Bridge, Like Poetry, Is Vertigo (audio only)
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On the road home the tide is rising.
Riding the road-tide is dangerous
but it’s not safe to stand still.
Hang on the verge & you drown.
I’m going along for the tide.
I may see more riders further on.
Drowning must wait till I get there
2002
for Joan Paul, d. April 1978
No grief goes unrelieved;
some days, half meaning to,
I turn my undefended back
on the grey & snarling scene
of my dissociating pack
and hope.
2016