The White Rhinoceros

                                            On this cold november night darkness comes early

                                            calling for a quiet, solitary celebration: a hot bath, candles

                                            a glass of wine.


                                           the water covers me, my eyes close temporarily

                                           and in that brief moment, that transcendent moment

                                           I see a white rhinoceros.


                                           I don't know what it means. It doesn't matter.

                                           It only matters that I saw him.

The Highway

                        ... he asked if I like george benson
                                                

                                                                           ... as the white lines on the highway fell beneath us

                                   ... strings bending / fingers finding / every perfect chord

Sacred Objects

                                    december / nineteen eighty seven

               ... not wanting him buried in bare feet 

                                                                   ... we were sent off to buy a pair of socks / black, preferably

                      ... carried them back to the funeral home ... like the sacred objects they were


       
                                     
Photograph by Molly Matalon