the kids at school say my eyes are too big

Great galloping wallops of

jubilant glee,

breaking paces forbidden

by human civility,

turning their tracks behind them into

distant memory,

forgotten.

Great idiot dogs,

hurtling the beach --

too much for themselves --

owners hollering

idiot names after wonky forms

Interlude in stirrups,

knees high, riding light and hope --

I never wanted children --

The doctor stirs a cocktail of me.

My knees still high:

Is it supposed to be red?

Red is normal.

Outside, nurses populate spreadsheets:

"She wouldn't want dick."

"She'd have to be sedated."

"She would!"

I'm terrified their words prescribe.

On the bus ride home I imagine a red craft beer called "Ya Olde Bloody Cunt" while nodding off.

Flood the broad bay with a light burnished gold.

Halcyon days later draw down in honey,

Leaping, living, holding through the wind,

Facing, diving, leaping again.

The air, the water, the air and water meeting, the aim in between.

The good clacks of joints.

The rumble of going, the good of staying, the bumps of stems from jumping things.

The wave of flowers, of grasses, of cereals, and the sunlight -

O blessed sunlight -

of going too far beyond the lode stone of wisdom,

while death's bitter flag-drop crimps to signal an effortless folly.

When from the first sight of light tumbles wild certainty in normal circuit;

When, by the lie of the land, pass haunts of knowledge reined loose;

When, apart from that laminar needle of hope, there is neither recovery nor memory,

I, a liar, hate.

Oh, Georgia

(On seeing a small painting by Georgia O'Keeffe at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Manhattan)

Her brush strokes are so clear on closer inspection,

Populating the landscape so freshly they might still be drying.

This woman who I've seen only in photographs, long dead, unknown to me,