October 1999

I sit where I always sit, in back of the Buddha,
Red leather wing chair, pony skin trunk
                                                         under my feet,
Sky light above me, Chinese and Indian rugs on the floor.
1 March, 1998, where to begin again?
...

January

Contorted by wind,
mere armatures for ice or snow,
the trees resolve
to endure for now,

they will leaf out in April.
And I must be as patient
as the trees—
a winter resolution

I break all over again,
as the cold presses
its sharp blade
against my throat.


February

After endless
hibernation
on the...