old books, previous mistresses

old books, previous mistresses
take down a volume from the shelf
sink into that familiar embrace

a novel from the seventies --
Provos, bombings in London
radical chic -- how antiquated it seems

in the flyleaf the inscription
"Merry Christmas Joyful 1978"
"Love" from an old girlfriend

thirty years have passed, and that love
or youthful infatuation, whatever it was
leaving no visible scars

autumn homecoming

under the bridge the commuter train
glides toward the western suburbs
in yellow oval windows, a binary message
head, head, not head, then countless blur

as I stride over the bridge, north
homing too, but on foot, and unaccustomed
this pink dusk, crescent moon just rising
and the glitter of downtown striving

the bridge rises and takes me up
launches my body into unaccustomed space
over Philadelphia, over Vancouver too
in earlier autumn across the continent

by FEDEX -- these books left Tokyo
yesterday and arrived here this morning
by what magic? ancient history and
global transmission, it pulses

and I pulse with it, strange to be out
at this time of evening. the junkman
takes down his table of third-hand relics
from the sidewalk, how carefully

work has ceased on the old cars
across the street, hoods lifted
batteries strewn across the pavement
blotted by yellow gingko leaves, still wet

reverie 2

here it is -- old age

to your surprise, you've finally learned
to appreciate Brahms

to your surprise, you're still sitting
in the cheap seats

what happened to that notorious midlife crisis?
it too seems to have passed you by
last wild illicit chance for ecstasy

leaving not a trace in the dead brown leaves
as you shuffle along, en route
to senility