The day clarity couldn’t get much more
The kids all too much.
The table & chairs we found outside in the sun
the brittle wind. Imagine the sky
Padua’s Arena Chapel, its vaulted ceiling!
Jot something loving down in a notebook
amid comments, observations,
red wine blots, “Hope you live long
enough, enfolded & open,
in the instant.”
Not just the lip cut
where all sensation rushes to the wound.
Say, gesture, touch, turn
of phrase far
Two more poems by Robert Gibbons
More of Gibbon’s poetry in our Fall Issue
Lover, Is This Exile? and OF DC are still in print from InnererKlang@aol.com
A prose poem is available online at The Literary Review
Robert Gibbons writes a regular column, “Observations,” for an online magazine out of Switzerland at www.niederngasse.com
Night & Day
No, the night Monk’s thundering, killing
with his bare hands.
Scarring ivory lording over
only over the defeated
of the instrument still standing
up to him ready
to take another hit always resurrected
in the sacred
We go home in sunglasses, turn red wine
black from Cahors.
Both our biracial kids open the door,
welcome us, make room,
by having grown.