the Constitution
(a ship in Boston Harbor)
has won my man’s heart
a tavern lunch date
for our last family road trip
with all of our girls
all grown up, my girls
(they’ve been everywhere with us)
and soon they will fly
you can’t understand
the traffic-less upstate life
till you’re on the road
the road with vineyards
and wineries everywhere
the empty lake roads
you can’t understand
waterfalls till you’ve seen these
cutting out gorges
if you knew, you’d know
just how perfect this place is
(it’s carved in sandstone)
but you’re not here, right?
so let me spill this clear view:
it’s a waterfall
it’s a waterfall
that feeds this glacial magic
(also named heaven)
packed up and ready
with the bikes fully secured
for our summer trip
a packed-up cooler
electric, adaptable:
symbol of planning
itinerary
revised, rewritten, reread,
printed for Plan Z
(there is no Plan Z)
there is just the dream, the trip
on these four tires
with one vacant lot
the clear divide of wealth
(urban devilry)
three-thirty a.m.
my oldest’s footsteps. good steps.
intentional steps.
this is not a moon.
this is a lunar eclipse.
(Super-Flower-Blood)
and she’ll be gone soon.
(no early-morning steps).
and i. am. eclipsed.
shadows of loss win
the afternoon shines bright.
(we still have our moon)
recent immigrants
cross the sea to wholly see
how corrupt we are
my girl’s accepted
into her dream universe
filled with stardust, hope
our ski season ends
with bluebird jumps and peak views
(and a pinch of angst)
no real snow day
just a cat and a puzzle
dreaming of travel
reality sits
between aspen dream ski runs
and running a house
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