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.

ANCILLARY MATTERS

In a 4 to 3 vote, the committee ruled
That God would no longer exist
But would still comfort the afflicted,
Mete out justice and inspire
Love and wonder, confusion and hatred.

RULES

In Wilno they teach you
Do not point at the Moon
Nor pee where it can see you.
Most importantly:
Do not fall in love with the Moon.
Some nights the streets
Are filled with furious Balts

Pointing and peeing
And writing love poems.

LOVE WHICH HAS NO HAT

In an old French book a man’s love

Takes off its hat to say goodbye;

Why is my love not like that?

I don’t think it’s ever owned a hat

And, if it did, it’s never worn it.

Unkempt, unshaven, stumble-tongued –

It knows nothing of good manners

(I wouldn’t be surprised if it drinks, too)

I could, I suppose, buy my love a hat

A jaunty one, with a tall feather --

But what if it then grew vain

And insisted I rig it out as a musketeer

Complete with cape and high boots

A  tabard and, of course, a musket?

Not even in dreams does wisdom say

Teach your love the use of firearms.

CALLING THE MOON

"I remember," the old muse said,
"The first time the moon was called
As witness to a poet's love;
The excitement! The daring!
Others had picked leaves
Or thrown stones (What says passion
Better than a well-aimed rock?)
But to insolently summon the moon--
I half thought the poet would die
Right then. She thought so too
And braced herself against a tree.

But the moon was pleased
And raised her voice when the sea
Was minded to drown you all."