The Waitress’ Neck

A flash of flesh,

fleeting like the undersides

of those beech leaves across the street,

glides along my eye amid the clatter

of cutlery and breakfast hum, sunlight

on orange juice and eggs

on coffee pot and flower vase

on the bird pendant of her necklace.

***

The waitress’ neck

couldn’t remember

shadows

beneath crabapples

beside a quarry pond

a diver

dropping through the humid air

quick laughing splashes

a slick

expanse of skin half out

half under cold water

but somehow leaves

them all beside my coffee cup.

***

A small bird in blue darts

beneath a neighbor’s table,

a blue Nemisia bloom

falls beside another

dropping through

this summer air.

Summer Sonnet (with Apologies to Li-Young Lee)

I wonder, should I really want to write

About peaches yet again? To re-run

That from blossoms comes golden-juiced delight,

Filled with childish joy and summer sun;

To be again by soft-scented fuzz entranced,

To nearly overflow my outmatched tongue

With a handful of sweet, round jubilance—

Eh, it’s all been so much better done!

Perhaps I could adopt a sneering tone,

Point out impermanence or rot within,

Wearily warn of bruises, mold, and stones,

Complain of mealy flesh or bitter skin;

Or just gently choose with a finger’s kiss,

Pluck on up, bite down, and lick my lips.