Sound of One Hand
Winter moonrise. A thick sheet
of Plexiglass between you and it.
A teacher scribbled your report card,
He is not particularly well grounded.
You explained: failure to keep the meat hand
above the glove as a ground ball approached.
Giant cedars, blunter-than-thou novels,
bittersweet chocolate chips: nightmare hour.
Pure moon-color of bare rib-bone in x-rays:
the blot is a surgical staple in the sternum.
What slides so often between lucidity
and phantasmagoria... the cold sweat of angels.