LOSING TRACK

i used to be young and then
somehow i lost the knack.

you don't think of it as a skill:
cycling aloft on the wire,
but once belief goes - that's it:

you've veered off track
into a siding.  you recall
the switching point, the shudder
as your life became detached.

windows turn inward: reflect
your back-to-front face
which has forgotten how, lost when.

the dreams begin: leaving luggage
on a train. searching
through unknown cities. riding a bus
unable to name a destination.

i used to be young.
i didn't think of it as a skill.
you ask if i'd go back?

yes, but i don't remember these streets;
and anyway i've lost the knack.

SOU'WESTER

branches slap branches, flap

their few leaves, make wild

commotion and complaint: the air

is raving and motes of birds,

snatched in sky currents, fly

impossibly backwards.

the apple tree wags by the garden door,

smacks down a yellowed fruit on the flags

like a card player with a winning hand.

rooks, rain-beaded in the creaking willows,

wrap their hooks tight: jig to the beat of the storm.