I. Reading a Book
With origamic precision I
dog-eared the corner of a day
in which reading you was
like sifting through shifting clouds
looking for a recognizable shape
(e.g., loping deer, jumping horse, shady oak).
Along the way I picked a medley of
flowers in a kaleidoscopic garden;
discovered a new planet, a new particle,
a forgotten place; met a clairaudient
who was listening in on happiness;
augured the future and came away hopeful.
II. Being Elsewhere
Overhead a mobile of gulls flecked
your rhythmic backside with shadow.
Appropriately Matisse added
your tan lines but then forgot where
he was and confused our locale with the
South of France. I built a sandy nest
beside you, curled up, dozed off too.
We slept and dreamt together.
First stop Antibes: cafe au lait and pastries;
the plein air market; the Musee Picasso.
Second stop Nice: a brisk brief photo op;
the whitecaps of Alps in the hazy blue yonder.
Third stop Monaco: crepes and another
au lait; flapping pennants; tired feet.
Fourth stop Menton: Cocteau's Salle des mariages;
the mynah bird in the junk shop; sachets of
lavender; the stairs to St-Michel; waiting for
the restaurants to open. By the time we came to
we'd already crossed the border into Italy,
changed money, and were heading to Torino.
R.L. SWIHART says, "Though I am many, I'll be contented to spotlight only my quadruplicate-self which, like a nested Matryoshka doll, consists of me and the-family-within: RLS (I'm shy, so until we're more intimate the initials will do), Ania (the devoted wife), Katia (started 1st grade in September), and Nadja (quite the fledgling at 2.5 yrs). I read heavily. Imbibe moderately. Work when I have to (math teacher). Am hounded by all nine muses at once."