We have plenty of matches in our house. We keep them on hand always. Currently our favorite brand is Ohio Blue Tip, though we used to prefer Diamond brand. That was before we discovered Ohio Blue Tip matches. They are excellently packaged, sturdy little boxes with dark and light blue and white labels with words lettered in the shape of a megaphone, as if to say even louder to the world, “Here is the most beautiful match in the world, its one-and-a-half-inch soft pine stem capped by a grainy dark purple head, so sober and furious and stubbornly ready to burst into flame, lighting, perhaps, the cigarette of the woman you love, for the first time, and it was never really the same after that. All this will we give you.” That is what you gave me, I become the cigarette and you the match, or I the match and you the cigarette, blazing with kisses that smoulder toward heaven.
When you’re a child you learn there are three dimensions Height, width and depth Like a shoebox Then later you hear there’s a fourth dimension Time Hmm Then some say there can be five, six, seven… I knock off work Have a beer at the bar I look down at the glass and feel glad.
Poetry in translation is like taking a shower with a raincoat on.
Sometimes an empty page presents most possibilities.
There’s an old song my grandfather used to sing that has the question, “Or would you rather be a fish?” In the same song is the same question but with a mule and a pig, but the one I hear sometimes in my head is the fish one. Just that one line. Would you rather be a fish? As if the rest of the song didn’t have to be there.