light

Reflections on Miles Davis

I think of his eyes – dark pools so sensitive, radiant with droplets of feeling-light, the depth of them in tremulous water, how they seem to ripple inwards as I look into them, as if my heart itself is a ripple in that wide river of receiving, reflecting the sky of me so I can see my vast self for the first time, reflecting things I never saw in my own sky – eyes that hold that note steady, that one note that blows through my heart, all the way through. (more…)

Chrysanthemums from The Milky Way

Now riding the FRTA bus from Northampton to Greenfield
obsessively revising a poem on my phone
the bus rattling with ferocity
like a small traveling earthquake of metal

other passengers staring off or into
the blue-ish ghost light of their own phones
all of us being ferried loudly across the Route 5 of forgetting
that runs parallel to the Connecticut River.

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