BETWEEN ZEN
&
MIDWESTERN

-

Tom Montag


Originally published by Salt Works Press
Vineyard Haven, MA
1981


 

A certain softness
is needed: more strength

than fingers possess;
more than our breathless

talk: I take only
what can be given

& you give only
what I will take.



*

 

The Uncoupling

Sleep would take us, yet we talk, touch.
Fingers dance as fingers will, and flesh

responds. The way we lay against or
into one another, we fit so well--

Every movement, every thrust of ours
has become familiar, yet how much more

we share today than yesterday.
Is it the wind's moaning, or ours -

the long, low sounds we hear, this coming
to silence? We fall apart, then.

Or do we? A boundary of skin
is no sure measure; some entwinement

remains and, caught in its threads,
we fall no farther and we sleep as one.

 

*



For Mary, At Work

How the light shimmers, these
mornings, with you gone to

work & only the wind
to whisper what you would

tell me, suddenly behind
me with your surprise of

arms, hugging. Instead -
my coffee goes cold & I

haven't finished saying
how much I love you.



*




Gramma's Kitchen

Baking bread:
early morning -
The way the light comes through
the curtains.



*



Eros or Love, This Morning

The slow curve
of her breast,

as she turns -
that, & more than

that.



*




This stone is weathered,
grey here beside water,
its underside moist as
a kiss. A simple stone,
grey, weathered, hard, as if
something has been settled.



*





Another
thick sky

this morning.
The light

diffuse &
wind-driven.

Grey as stone.

*

I cannot return
what I have not taken.



*




August Storm

Thunder
rolls across the threatening

sky -
and the birds

take to the trees
trying to figure

what to do -



*





A thin skin of water,
now, where snow has been.

A cast of sky as if
frost kills the garden.

As if geese fly north,
not south. Either to

plant potatoes, or
dig them. The wise know

how long to wait.



*





Spring Morning

Outside our sun-warmed bedroom -
a few windflowers survive

last week's snow: so today I've
opened two windows and let

spring fill these rooms. Either
those wooden frames still ache or

it was winter's back I heard
cracking: as if the soil's damp

musk were even thicker and
this house sets root and grows.



*




Simply Morning
for Jenifer and Jessica

and two daughters are
enough to fill
the room with voices -

Their eyes
grow deep into a sun
through kitchen windows, as if

these last fine days
between summer's green curl
and the flat ice

of winter
are to be expected;
as if joy can be

as constant as water:
A knowledge which shines
in their loveliness -

That such a morning,
once shared,
need never be given back.



*





November

Any sky as
thick as this

is - small
wonder the geese

falter, fall
off the wind.



*





Winter Landscape

Is that
the snow's curve

or a slow drift
of earth?

The sky is
too blue to tell me

And the fence,
it seems to lean.



*




12-22-80

The morning sun is low &
lost in this late December

sky: enough light for us
to catch the snow on any wind

as cold as this is. We would
turn from such a ragged sky -

yet we must wait patient.
The day turns on its pivot:

Only when you embrace the world
can you push the world away.



*




11-10-80

Mary - again this morning
we shared that one last cup
of coffee, as we have shared

the years. Whether the sky
was cold & clear or sunlight
marked the kitchen walls, our

talk went warm as the wood
we've cut against winter.
You've left for work again:

& now the cup goes cold:
along its thick rim, still,
there is this taste of you.



*




Silence: light

all the colors,

if we would

see them.

Every sound.

The fullness of everything.