Saturday, December 13, 2014



My first wife was afraid
To take the tiller while I changed
Sails.  My second found it a delight
To be in the storm if only
For a short time and climb
Mountains, struggling to the top
Despite the wasting’s incursions.

Both preferred to stay on shore
While I with spear and other gear
Struggled through the surf,
The first afraid, the second
Unwilling to take another’s life.
The first passed long ago.
The second struggles to read

With her one good eye.
I hoped to bend them to my
Will but abdicated the actuality.
They filled their own imaginations
With forms I never clearly knew;
Lending Susan my arm now
I’m repeatedly dazzled.

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