Time Travel

The past is all around us.
It travels from earth, outwards
to space in a ripple.

Do you remember yesterday
when you laughed at my joke?
Look at your laughter, making

its way past the moon now.
And the summer when your
mother died? Look there…

-those are your sobs-
They are almost out
of the sun’s reach by now.

And there, by that star.
Those are your
first cries as a newborn.

I looked beyond that thinking
I’d find God, but all I saw
was your mother’s laughter.

DQ 10/29/07

The Lazarus Journey

“And he came forth, feet and hands bound
with bands, and face covered in cloth.”

1. In hospice rooms, they weep
before they cross the threshold.

2. At the pound, all dogs on death
row have streaks under their eyes.

3. In my garden, flower buds
sprout with little droplets of dew.

4. In birthing rooms,
newborns cry at birth.

What are tears
if not proof that

this circle of life thing is
really lonely on the other side.

DQ 10/21/07

Equestrian Women

I am not exactly sure when
they traded places.
The supplanter, the displaced,
the daughters of Isaac.
It happened sometime before
the alarm clock rang. Sometime
between the tap on the shoulder
and the straddle of the hip.

There is usually a cautionary word
between one runner and the next
to warn about the exchange of the baton.

But not this time. There was no warning,
no approaching footsteps by one,
no reaching back by the other.
No halt of the race to exchange jockeys.

It was you that bounced
on my hips in the darkness
but someone else’s name that I called out.

DQ 10/19/07

When Knees Touch

Before making contact,
the invisible lightning arc sizzles
across inches.

And Jesus said, "Who touched me?"

When have you felt ether
fall from you like reflex?

Out of your skin
and into the flesh and space of another
like gravity

bound at each end by a string
with fish hooks politely forcing
a minimum distance

crackling and white
the baited touch of a woman’s skin

and after that, the stare of Eve
and after that, the sweet smell of apple
and after that, the fate of all my fathers.

DQ 10/11/07

Untitled

That afternoon the wind
turned trees to bone,
cut my face with leaves.
Every butterfly became a sail

and I became a prophet,
predicting it would topple
a dream house built from clouds.
Butterflies have returned since.

My face has healed.
The wind replaced the space
my body filled, and pushed
my half the sky along with yours.

DQ 10/07/07