The Bull

I have seen the black bull cry.

I have seen the black bull tire of his horns.

I have seen him lay down his three diamonds.

For years he has carried those diamonds.

But I have seen him lay them down.

He carries them:

Three boulder-sized constellations of shine,

Three vain planets:

One for the rump,

One for the neck,

One stuck between his horns.

Three diamonds, three hoof-crushing diamonds.

I have seen him lay them down.

I have seen the bull lay his black bulk of a body down

In the green field, alone among grass blades.

I have seen the bull cry.

Then again, this does not come as a great surprise;

this is a bull who has fallen in love with every shrub, crowned or not with color—

who has cried for every fallen tree:

a bull like

a flower with a stone stem and satin petals.

When his body crashes down, when his eyelids thud shut,

The grass blades try to caress him from under,

And the rain tries to kiss him from above—

And when the clouds tire the winds take their turn,

Kneading the bull’s foreribs, his flank, his back, his black gaze of a thousand longings,

Trying to dry his tears of oil, his black slobber.

But the fire in the bull’s heart of frozen coal

Keeps weeping itself out through the coal heart’s pores:

Ebony tears, dead fire.

The bull’s heart cries out tears of black dead fire.

The bull’s eyes cry out black tears.

None ask him with their different voices why he cries.

They know.

The bull has not spoken since he was sentenced:

And the diamonds have never been broken.

I have seen the scars on his rump, on his neck, on his poll,

Those crimson scabs shaped like three sullen scallops.

See how his body sinks there: see how his face sinks.

See his slow ordained death.

See the bull cry.

We Will All Laugh (Songs From A Long Time Ago #3)

nine months from now

she will flail her legs

she will cry when she comes

in your arms she will cry

and i’ll be born too and she

will smile and fall

Silent and all the while

I’ll see her walk down the hall

nine months from now

we will all be absolutely born and

she will cast her own shadows

she will die many times

she will live all the more

she’ll be a dotted line

among dotted lines

she’ll walk among the cities

among the other lines

nine months from now

she’ll eat her own boogers

she’ll run before she walks

she’ll prefer milk to low fat

she’ll hold a paper in her hand

she’ll wear a smile for her dad,

she’ll throw up that oxford cap,

she’ll take pictures of herself,

she’ll have facebook. she will use keyboard.

she will become a part of this century with headphones.

she will join the world of advertisements and slogans

and she’ll never be able to be two or three words,

she won’t even be able to be her name.
she will never be catchy.
she will never fit in a palette of colors or magazines or books.

she’ll be—nine months from now—something else.

she’ll star in her own stage play,

and I’ll applaud for her,

she’ll hit a home run all day,

and I’ll applaud for her,

she’ll eat a hot dog with me,

and I’ll pay it for her.

She’ll wear a smile and a white dress,

For her, for her she will;

And one day she’ll wear a rainbow of tears and a black dress,

For me: just for me.

Under My Roof, At Last

Hello, old friend! How nice of you to stop by.

I must confess, though—I knew you were coming.

The blade of grass in front of my doorstep

Spoke of you today. Something about the way she stood—

Alone among a million in the damp morning—

she was a lily dressed as a green peasant,

lowly in disguise, a small emissary.

She was saying, “Rolando, your friend is near.

After so many years, your friend is near!”

There were other augurs.

I could talk about the giggling girls in the park;

Only when you are visiting can they laugh so!

And let’s not forget the boys who, for once,

Opened their fists like fast-forward flowers blooming,

and, instead of fighting, painted with their hands.

There was another indication, if I remember well:

a ray of the sun fell in love with a butterfly's shadow—

That, for me, was the telltale sign:

My oldest friend is going to be stopping by!

So, hello again, and thank you for coming on a sunny day.

I wondered as I opened the door, what face you’d be wearing;

The years can mold us like clay, Time being the Eternal Potter;
Thus my house is broken, my friend, but my dreams have straggled.

So step in: let your splendid feet meet my house.

The face you wear now is the most wondrous yet.

And you haven’t aged a bit, my dearest, oldest friend.

I know my face looks like it’s spent years stuck in a river,

And I know my house slouches like a withered vine—

There are too many splinters on the floor here.

But I preserved a bottle of wine, an 1885 we

Promised we'd share on the day of your return,

The day we’d begin the work on those wooden shreds,

On how grey everything is.

For I could have painted the walls,

But only you could pick the right color.

And I could have picked the splinters,

But only you would have seen all of them.

Song About A Leaf (Songs Of A Long Time Ago #1)

I told you I saw a leaf

Dancing in black water,

Unfurling like a green dress,

Unmoored and unfettered.

And soon I’d find a poem,

Whether in days or months or more,

Where the leaf would be a metaphor

For something unknowable.

This I said to you one night ago;

On said night I saw a spirit move.

It was sprightly, a sprightly creature

Dancing by the light of a naked moon.

Her hair was golden sand sprinkled

In three thousand waves.

All the trees clapped their hands to her cadence.
Even her beads of sweat were iridescent.

It took me eight whole seconds

To recognize you then;

Because for a moment

I only saw a leaf

Dancing in the wind.