BERNINI'S ANGEL WITH A SCROLL

 

A finished sculpture

Of an unfinished angel

One wing is entire

The other stops halfway

Allowing him to fly

Only in circles so that

He walks when tasked

With some miracle or,

If it's urgent, runs. 

FLIGHT

 

The Portuguese writer Antonio Lobo Antunes 

Often dreamed of flying as did my father;

Lobo Antunes flew by himself; my father

With the assistance of angels. Sometimes,

If they were in a hurry, the angels

Would toss my father back into his bed

Through an open window.

This never happened to Lobo Antunes

Who had, however, problems of his own.

REFLECTIONS

 

Shunsho once drew a samurai glaring

At a young geisha looking back at him

From his mirror. He obviously thinks

He's being poorly served but at least

The geisha has a clever look to her

And is probably good company.

My mirror parades ragged old men

Who seem distressed -- helpless creatures

Who can't even comb their hair properly.

Any of their originals -- surely a sorry lot! --

Are welcome to come fetch them. I'll  make do

Until my reflection returns. (I assume he's in jail;

He'd better not be hanging out with geishas.)

DRAGON CONJURED FROM A CUP OF TEA

 

I don't know if my grandfather Joe

Frequented all-night diners but since he died

It's where I generally see him in dreams --

Often multiplied so that he's most

Of the customers, quietly chatting

With himself in a booth, waiting

For a seat at the counter, glaring

At the change the cashier is giving him.

The next time we meet I mean to show him

Harunobu's picture of a girl conjuring

A dragon from a cup of tea.

STRATEGIES

 

Death, wanting to be loved,

Has learned how to make an omelet

And to do a very creditable

Imitation of a crow though not

At the same time. This, he believes,

Is why his strategy has so far failed.

SOMEONE HAS TO DO IT

 

Formerly, my cat Casey (deceased)

Was responsible for looking from

An upstairs window every morning

To make sure the world was still there.

I never thanked her. Now the job's mine

And nobody thanks me either.

HIROSHIGE SKETCH

 

The nobleman has given it

The merest toe-tap but the ball

Has soared into the sky where it hangs

Pretending to be a stitch-seamed moon