LIGHT

Starlight for my father at fifteen

Still awake at five in the morning

High in his attic, standing by the window.

A flickering dream for my mother,

Fourteen and just about to wake up

A mile or two away. It's a Saturday;

He will go to the synagogue and ask God

Some probing questions. She will go

To a movie and gather evidence

Of how reality can be constructed

From shadows and light and fear and love.

ENCRYPTED

A slight mistake; instead of a man
A lead statue of a man was sent
It was late and there were no stars
Available for money (love? We had some
But not much and no intent of using it
To purchase starlight). We thought
We remembered so well that darkness
And a few drinks would make no difference.
It is a handsome statue though the features
Are slightly blurred. It cannot walk on water
That it can manage to stay afloat at all,

Vulnerable and desperately flailing,
Is a sort of miracle.