To go back to my first full-length book for a moment,
I'd like to read a sonnet.
So often when you write a poem, you
realize it can be about several things
or there are several different readings,
interpretations that you could give to the poem.
And one of the ways I think about this one
is that it's about language and how dependent
we are on language.
But also, a theme I keep going back to in my work from time
to time--
I think this happens to all writers-- you don't consciously
try to do this, but the same themes come up in your work
again and again.
And eventually, you begin to notice
that you're writing about this.
And this theme that I come back to frequently
is about the desire to have a connection with other people
and the other aspect of self that wants to be protected.
It's that struggle between wanting to be open
and wanting to be loving and friendly,
and the other part that says, but wait a minute,
this is how you get hurt, be careful.
So it's that struggle between openness and guardedness
and also language.
What I Like.
Friend, the face I wallow toward through a scrimmage of shut
faces.
Arms like towropes to haul me home.
Aide-memoire, my lost childhood docks.
A bottled arc in harbor.
Friend, I can't forget how even the word contains an end.
We circle each other in a scared bolero,
imagining stratagems, postures, and imposters.
Cold convictions keep us so low.
I ahem and hedge my affections: who'll blow the first kiss,
land it like the life forces we feel tickling at each wrist?
It should be easy, easy to take your hand.
Whisper down this distance labeled hers or his,
what I like about you is