certain situations

you find yourself	you have yourself	you find yourself	you make yourself
some mornings	a couple	afternoons	say something
in the kitchen	eggs and bacon	elbow to elbow	promise progress
watching someone	mumble something	with working people	to a  roomful
you don't know	go to work	you don't know	of unknowns

and where do you drive to now? 

you can't go home

it is not home

the quiet crawls the length of your back

you cannot work

it is not work

the seasons roll past airtight windows

you want to fill your pockets
with the pebbles of the beach
and measure out the pier

and one step more

it's dark down there

it's deep enough
to do the job
just long enough

sharpening

[[ it's all figurative -- talk in the kitchen at a party, right? right? ]]

we're in the kitchen

sharpening wits

honing the edges

of our slicy bits

taking our knives out

steel and bone

dragging each edge along

sharpening stone

pushing our knives in

steel and bone

stop when we find ourselves

all alone

pulling our knives out

steel and bone

calling a taxi on
a dead man's phone

burning churches

[[ I have stopped to watch big churches burn -- it's very dramatic -- but words do double duty here. What is most important in a church -- what they carry out of a burning church -- is the art and the records. Churches are the local warehouses of time and beauty. Something like that. ]]

I have stopped
to watch
your churches burn.

What you carry
out from churches
filled with fire

is art -- religion
of religions,
and the only true --

a trap for frisson,
how it feels
along our nerves,

art and history,
a trace of time
in curled ink,

the word on page,
a jar of you
in vinegar

to evidence that
you were born,
your mother born,

and time sleeps
in a pile
of local stone.