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Poem of the Month - August 2004
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Krishna-Shiva
from On Nights Like This

A green glass plate,
a peach silk cocktail dress,
every home and every one
you love, the realest
things in themselves
shift and then collapse
in a soft tumbling-down.

Just minutes ago a tower sank
and the wave that leapt
is already tame. Now a shimmering
only laps his foot. And

the boy plays his flute
by the blue water; plays
a wild liquid chant of joy
that everything made shall break.

I hate what is so mindless
there is no sadness to it, and
would rather a terrible stillness
reigned over the lake of the dead.



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