70

I'll remember this
I said about this poem
Composed on Shabbos
It died while still a haiku
Because I couldn't write it

What's mentionable,
said dear, wise Mister Rogers,
is manageable.
And yet I risk managing
because I fear mentioning.

Dangling in the wind

is the way a flower feels - 

with uncertainty.

Yet the flower still has roots.

And yes, the flower is strong.

We haven't spoken
in over a month now, and
I miss our phone calls.
Part of me is afraid that
you may never call again.

66

We're Pesach roommates
and he's trembling in a dream,
firm talk waking me.
Defending his history,
dad gives the boss the business.

There are no words for
my human longing for truth
that microwaves me
burns me from the inside out
as I search in the ashes

530 AM

Sleeping and writing
can't be done at the same time
and yet that's my dream
as I lie here half awake
writing as I pray for sleep