The guy walked past singing White Bird, in a golden cage, On a winer’s day in the rain. One of the old songs, By the group It’s A Beautiful Day. Whatever songs The radio assigns me, whatever songs strangers sing As they pass me, those are my songs for the day. This is my creed, my gospel, my way of trying to stay In the world I was born into. I sang the song Doing the dishes that night, and it felt right singing White Bird, in a golden cage, on a winter’s day, In the rain. It was winter. I was white, as I always Would be. I understood myself to be in a golden cage, Large enough to live a whole life in. I understood It’s a beautiful day, and I lived the song in my body And mind for that whole beautiful day.

THE STORY THAT COVERS THE STORY

A friend sits vigil with her dying mother. They have not hidden their lives from each other So there is not much to say. Sometimes light Comes in the window, sometimes they rest In darkness. Both wonder if now is the time To tell the secret stories. They hope, as all storytellers Do. that the long-protected stories will keep each other Alive, but he secret stories, lively and entombed, Keep breathing inside my friend, her mother, And they matter too much to tell. Each woman Feels the peace that comes from protecting The secret stories; they both know that death Is coming, and there’s not much to say.

THE LION IN THE DUNES

Of course he is lost. Not a tree, not a pride, Not a river, not even An oasis for a kind of comfort. He was Brave, or angry, or Full of longing for Solitude. He was old Or alone, or weary Of the rules he lived by. He was filthy with sand, Grit in his eyes, And the desert wind Lifted and shook His golden mane. He was not aware Of being a symbol Of anything. No hermetic truths Swirled around him, And though he was Part of the book Of the world, He never knew. He followed The carved and glowing Wall of the dune And his paw prints Made no path to follow As he leaned into The wind, always His one true love.