I'll just go back a little to some of my earlier poems.
This one is a poem about beginnings, beginners
and beginnings.
Metaphysics at Lake Oswego.
Dawn like never before.
Rosy bands across bare trees.
For the beginner, doubt and possibility
both cradled in the pink sky.
Like the beginner, empty and ready
as if an egg under each arm and without breaking them.
Ada rows out on the lake, oar plash and bird call.
So much in love with the music.
She just moves, that's all, great hips.
From the shore, you're familiar with her look.
You must tame her focus to see your human face.
Cradled in a boat, her body confirms destiny.
Already out this March, starving the deer, demanding you
dissemble and bow down and to whom.
Ada in a boat, Ada on the shore, in the waning days of your 20s,
Ada bathing.
Your whole life is overcoming the past,
which is fixed to repeat with a kind of innocence.
Rustling the underbrush, you'd crawl from the spot.
Red end toward the real trees, why
is she not always undressing there before a swim?
Dawn like never before charges up in you,
alizarin, perfect and wanton with something
to express, not figure out.
You are here blindly observing gestures again.
Only when they ricochet do the lights riddle your body.
Destiny, hope, you neither let go nor withhold.