Two Birds

On my table:
two golden birds
in a small glass cage
always turned gently to the other
but fixed and held there
by their maker
And I wonder what it does to me
to see those creatures so
Would it be better for me to 
smash it all open
and let them fly?


Today I am all tops without tails,
titles without poems:
Rain Check
Bathtub Gin
Morphine, Mania
Middle School

I will all of these bright seeds
to bloom into verse.

Sunday, I sat laughing with you
and told you my novel went nowhere.
I was all character.
But I thrilled when you said:
you can count on me for plot.

Of Course

You make a good point.
Loving me is about more
than the dishes you don't empty from the washer
your way of clumping my wet clothes
together on the line
the bed unmade, morning and night
the towel on the floor, open drawers.

You are exactly right
that these are all small matters
like the meals you don't cook
taxes filed late
gifts unchosen, letters unsent.

Of course, of course
of course these things are not precious.
But I am.