Perhaps Provence



Pedaling behind you and

your South of France chapeau

a wide-brimmed beehive

buzzing with beauty; your pale

linens blousing in the breeze.

Pedaling past the purple and

gold swallowed meadow, 

the chartreuse-stained barn, 

the soon-to-be-sunflowered field 

of another August, past fountains

of blue hydrangea and flocks

of rose hips and tiger lilies,

down to the absinthe ocean.



out on the South Fork of Long Island


New York

July 1998

from The Speed of Sight


Earth Mates



Let's join our hands.

Fill our hearts

like billowing sails.

And go,

without further ado.

On life's calling tide;

its favoring currents.

Turn our faces 

to the sun,

the guiding stars.

Tune our ears 

to the music 

of the days,

our dreams;

each other's 

sea-song eyes.

Lean our lovers' bodies,

salty and wild,

eagerly in

to every wind

and wonder.




New Jersey



My Modigliani



Your roseate face gazes

straight out

from the frame

you’re painted in.


like other Amadeos,

open eye contact

with the viewer.

But for this moment

you are my Modigliani

and no other’s,

with your elongated lines

of black silk and velvet;

your languorously

outstretched body

turned at a diagonal

yet graceful angle

on the barest suggestion

of lamplit couch. Where

you appear one-dimensional

but are clearly three

or four; sensual,

quietly erotic, individual;

with your lips kissed

onto the canvas

and your eyes inward

and outward;

self-satisfied, expressive.

And the skin of your neck

and hands showing,

all glowing, luminously

out into the moving room,

where a pink young lady

is having a party

with cake and candles

while I enjoy the sight

of my beautiful, dark and

breathing Modigliani.



on Central Park West

New York City

January 2005

from The Speed of Sight


A Midsummer’s Night Gown



As I duskdream

in the evening breeze,

eyes half open

to the outstretched water;

under high green canopies

that silksong

with leaves and robin’s wings,

and cicadas that fade up

and out at the edges

of my ears,

I imagine you appear,

moving gently,



move toward me

through the clovered glade

in a gown

of glowing fireflies:

their dreamlight

draping your bare shoulders,

floating over your long arms;

lighting your irises;

lamping the widening night

around you

with a deep enchantment.


in Central Park

New York City

Summer 2013


Luz de Vela 


                 ode to candlelight


You who brings 

such comfort

to the darkness;

spires of meditation 

to the stillness.

Who tenders light

with simple grace-

fulness. You

who dances

on tables

and faces, 


and bathwaters.

Who enchants

the mind's-eye

to flicker back

through rooms

and nights, 

dinners and gardens,



of other moving,

candle-lit moments.

And glows on


thousands of years 

and stories,

and many a poet's

heart-soft reveries

later, O Luz

de Vela.

on Degraw Street

Cobble Hill,


April 2017





El Beso, mi amor.


Of bodies, of lips.


Ripe, rhythmic, con pasión.


Hearts meeting,


beating doubly.


Your bull in the ring,


my ram, but no fighting,


only dancing, only loving.


Sombreros y Mantilles, mi amor,


of violet feelings,


scarlet flowers.



on DeGraw Street

Cobble Hill,


May 2016


Sometimes Saudade     


                           "Tenho saudades tuas."



the longing sings

so soul deep.

So untranslatably.

Like the Portuguese.

Into speechless,


moments, days

when saudade

surprises and

suffuses my body,

spirit, cells.

Mixes them with

waves of sinking

and swelling,

missing and yearning.

Sweetness and


Aching and gladness.

For all the wonders,

the sense memories ~

of the bliss

found and lost.

Of swimming

in the sun, sea

and wild air

of Great Love.

Of being once

with another

greatly free-flowing,

waking and

dreaming lover.


on Degraw Street

Cobble Hill,


April 2017