The carrots—still alive in their boxes
The red onions—with silk sheets coming off
The cabbage— like wax balls in a museum
The potatoes—like earth eggs
The watermelons—like field boulders
The grapes—touched with green rain
The tomatoes—clinging to their birth
The green onions—playing dead in the sun
The bananas—and their sleeping samba
The customers—with weighing eyes
The gypsy selling kittens from an orange crate
The heat under the straw—the grit on the rind
The explosions of rot—the running juices
The voice of the greengrocer— like a sun song

In the window, in the mirrors,
In the moments between windows and mirrors,
My dad lost in reflection.

In the window, in the motion,
In the stopping and starting and hum,
My mom, never ageing on the bus.

In the window, in the stillness,
My grandfather’s casket and hearse
Stopped in traffic in eternity.

In the mirrors, in the window,
Razors and scissors fly about my face
Like piranha butterflies.

In the window, in the mirrors,
Moviegoers move forward
In an endless parade of history.

In the window, in the light,
Our backyard peach tree
Blossomed into a blinding sight.

In the window, in the mirrors,
In the moments between windows and mirrors,
What I’ve lost I’ve recollected.

Poetry has changed me.
It has mistuned, misused
And disabused me.
It has brought me to despair
And to giving up.

But I can also say
Poetry has mistuned me.
It has entranced me.
It has brought me to joy.
I have more to give.

Even so
The person clearing the snow
Of a snowy expanse in which position
Never seems to change
Begins also to vanish
Between one ice age and another

This won’t do; this won’t last.
This war of all against all.
Treat others badly, the bad returns.
Treat the earth badly, earth has last say.
Hate the human races, dream your many faces.
Convinced of your politics, think again.
Laws fall silent in a silent state.
Convinced of your beliefs, believe in freedom
To keep from being fanatic in belief.
This won’t do; this won’t last.
This war of all against all.
What human future, without a human past.

With earth in its summer orbit
Evening is day’s vast heaven,
The fabric of the air so thin
Night can’t darken its face,
But lets starlight shine through,
The moon unearth its shadow,
Clear as its own lunar mornings
Brightness transcends night.
To such heavenly expansion
In comparison night seems void,
With God, or empty universe,
With our damned unreason,
Night seems void this evening
In the features of our animal faces.