For my father
I can see the river flow
from here out to the yard
And I know the river flows places
I can never go
And I walk these rooms alone,
gazing at the garden
Some sail boats down empty streams
Eyes are wide and quiet
And their desperation leads
past desolated, dying scenes
of lifeless, leafless, lonely trees
while looking for the forest
If I could I would carry you
I promise you I would
Past the streams to the open sea
where life began and can begin again
and maybe love refound
can echo down the hallways of time
And just so slightly change the past
It’s not impossible.
Is it?
Diane Lubarsky
__
I talk a good sunshine and condemn you for winter
I talk a good sunshine and condemn you for winter
which you own, in your owning
I can’t deny that all the pretty petals freeze
after summer never was
after all
But sometimes winter comes to white sands in isolation
waiting by waters that never freeze
but simply hush
all the frozen skies to silence
me
as I talk of sunshine in some foreign places
you
as you shiver behind winters’ icy mask
Diane Lubarsky
__
© Luigi Cazzaniga: Joe
© Luigi Cazzaniga: Joe
For Ethel
We live in the past
in our stars, in our visions.
Aways slightly out of synch
time gapes across galaxies and tables.
you speak
and a fraction of a fraction of a second later
your mouth moves,
and a fraction of a fraction of a second later
I hear you
Time enough, this is, to contain all of history
Oceans and puddles, Forests and trees
There are gaps in our knowledge
We tire and stretch.
Time yawns and swallows the sun
Which having set lingers on the horizon
and sets again.
I ache to set things right
There is a force in me that pulls and tears
for reconciliation. If you speak,
and your mouth moves, and I hear you all at once
— what is the harm in this?
A place to rest a nest on damp ground
covered with dry leaves
Hailstones and landslides, Earthquakes and tremors
There is a force in this that pulls and tears
and cries for resolution
Aching
to make all the parts
sit still in one place, in one time,
for one moment
But the world persists, and falls away
in pieces
Diane Lubarsky__
