backward glance he thought of looking in the mirrorbut that’s not where he sawthe boy walking alonebetween a pasture and a glowinghorizon beyond a mammothswamp in its season of fireholding his lunchin a paper sackholding his dreamsyet undreamedsensing a wonderwithout wonderingjust wanderinglike a migrating cur-lew or a solitarysailing crow
© 2021 Tom Weiss first published in verse-virtual
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settlement
i’m divorcing my dogscooper and stellaother dogs aboundbut they’re not minewe don’t know each otherin every glance and movehow to lie togetherstudied harmonygive and getwarmth and graceabsolute acceptancethese are our last daysan unintended consequenceof my personal global warminginexorable tectonics long deniednow made manifestit has taken so longfor deep movementsto become inescapablewhere I live up hereon landi had to step livelyor be consumedin a fissure so deep and widei am amazed I called itby a different namefor so many yearspretending it was a landscape featureimprovable with dirt bulbs mulchso i’ll be here for my dogswhile they remain for mei’m breaking eggsan omelet for their kibbleto soothe the agony to comethey will adapt much betterand faster as they focus more on what is newthan what was lostwhen I divorced my dogs © 2022 Tom Weiss first published in South by Southeast photomagazine
i’m divorcing my dogscooper and stellaother dogs aboundbut they’re not minewe don’t know each otherin every glance and movehow to lie togetherstudied harmonygive and getwarmth and graceabsolute acceptancethese are our last daysan unintended consequenceof my personal global warminginexorable tectonics long deniednow made manifestit has taken so longfor deep movementsto become inescapablewhere I live up hereon landi had to step livelyor be consumedin a fissure so deep and widei am amazed I called itby a different namefor so many yearspretending it was a landscape featureimprovable with dirt bulbs mulchso i’ll be here for my dogswhile they remain for mei’m breaking eggsan omelet for their kibbleto soothe the agony to comethey will adapt much betterand faster as they focus more on what is newthan what was lostwhen I divorced my dogs © 2022 Tom Weiss first published in South by Southeast photomagazine
minnesota musher a full and looming lunar lightit frosted pure the wintry nightas throbbing huskies’ cadenced strideskept magic pace across the ice the jack pines sang a gentle breezea frozen sweetness we could breatheshore lights couldn’t break the spellof magic mission moving well a nordic february nighta symphony of cold and lightand moon and ice and dogs and airblonde-scented from her presence there © 2022 Tom Weiss
first published in South by Southeast photomagazine
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crazy love I have loved all of themfingers feet breastsminds legs hairart children thighsdreams birthmarksparents courageflowers wetnessestrinidadian rum who gives a damnhe rightly asksalready knowing I dobut this time it’s differenthe hears me sayknowing that’s what I sayevery single time because it is differentevery single timecan’t you seeI know because it’s memy heart my groinmy belly in the field this time I haven’t even seen herlearning how the blind see learningexcept I haven’t touched her eitherexcept with wordsand photos of my dogsso you’re losing it he saysI smile and close my eyes
© 2021 Tom Weissfirst published in Poetry Super Highway
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waiting for words we have to wait until Saturdayunless we want to do iton the phonebecause this woman I long forcan only stay a day she does it for me,just the sight of herbut that’s not the onlyreason whyit’s the words I’m trying to curate a lifewith themshe has lived themsince a childmuch to her mother’s dismay on Saturday we’ll have impossiblynot enough timean hour if we’re luckyto read a few wordsto each other she loves julian barneswhom I don’t knowI’m thinking more eudorabut what about rimbaudand the various williamses even donne beforewe’re donetrying to distilltwo continentsinto a single drop
© 2022 Tom Weissfirst published in Mono
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loving pam
i often think it loudyet keep it quietsince it’s a non-starterthough i don’t really know or understand why she lost her life-loverhe died so much youngerrefusing all treatmentblind to their needsto grow grief she’s the mother to twinssons forty and countingone called her a whorewhile his father was silentreminds me of mine I follow her movementsher words as they gentleuncontained kindnessit flows to the riverwhere she sits on a boulder she’s a new kind of angelfull of passion to burstingshe gives away moneyto convicts and homelesswithout saying prayers I speak to her dailywhether she knows it or doesn’tI’m her official historianI record her in poemsthey arrive in odd momentsafter stillness and air © 2022 Tom Weiss first published in verse-virtual
i often think it loudyet keep it quietsince it’s a non-starterthough i don’t really know or understand why she lost her life-loverhe died so much youngerrefusing all treatmentblind to their needsto grow grief she’s the mother to twinssons forty and countingone called her a whorewhile his father was silentreminds me of mine I follow her movementsher words as they gentleuncontained kindnessit flows to the riverwhere she sits on a boulder she’s a new kind of angelfull of passion to burstingshe gives away moneyto convicts and homelesswithout saying prayers I speak to her dailywhether she knows it or doesn’tI’m her official historianI record her in poemsthey arrive in odd momentsafter stillness and air © 2022 Tom Weiss first published in verse-virtual
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thank you, Mary Oliver, for the shinrin yoku
I like to drink, breathe her body-mind,hair, imagined sighswhen blessedwith being close like communion.
She reads me poems,grills perfect pimientocheese sandwicheswith sides of second-hand smoke soft-delivered with fish-mouthed lips.
We laugh like fools, prattling yoga, cats, and Andy as we don’t try to be good. No desert-walking on our kneesand hands as we listen to the migrant flock.
The soft animal of our bodies light-lifts us on a paththrough talking treesbereft of leavesfollowing moon-dancersto the boulder where we bathe.
I couldn’t bear to give it up,this fully pregnant termwith her, even thoughher life-love blazes stillfor a new-dead man.I’m grateful here. © 2022 Tom Weiss first published in verse-virtual
I like to drink, breathe her body-mind,hair, imagined sighswhen blessedwith being close like communion.
She reads me poems,grills perfect pimientocheese sandwicheswith sides of second-hand smoke soft-delivered with fish-mouthed lips.
We laugh like fools, prattling yoga, cats, and Andy as we don’t try to be good. No desert-walking on our kneesand hands as we listen to the migrant flock.
The soft animal of our bodies light-lifts us on a paththrough talking treesbereft of leavesfollowing moon-dancersto the boulder where we bathe.
I couldn’t bear to give it up,this fully pregnant termwith her, even thoughher life-love blazes stillfor a new-dead man.I’m grateful here. © 2022 Tom Weiss first published in verse-virtual
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projection her radiance would immerse mesend me fearlessly downwithout suit or snorkelto a gypsy wagon reef its fantasia colors surgingan aurora spawning ground,neons of innocent hues,tetras like iridescent phalluses roaming dreamy pink cavesseeking safety and secretsof numinous originsas they cruised. I can still taste each portionon the silver plate she servedon what’s left of my resistancebefore I saw the mirror.
© 2022 Tom Weissfist published in Mono
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my next great love
I waited twelve years.what choice did I have?I had looked in all the dark cornersthat attracted spiders and meunder all available skirtswith fragrant shaved legsbefore I realizedshe was already here. © 2022 Tom Weiss first published in verse-virtual
I waited twelve years.what choice did I have?I had looked in all the dark cornersthat attracted spiders and meunder all available skirtswith fragrant shaved legsbefore I realizedshe was already here. © 2022 Tom Weiss first published in verse-virtual
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anima the woman lives inside him.she doesn’t say muchshe won’t always answer callssince when he’s drinkinghe usually drives until kentucky she doesn’t rag him about smoking,amused at how he’s happywhen it’s almost goneuntil it’s gone. he tries to touch her everywhereturgid fingers grasping aironce they almost made a babyhe likes to say with sighs now it’s early morningjust before the lighthe’s crying out her nameas she stands inside himpolishing his eyes
© 2022 Tom Weiss
first published in South by Southeast photomagazine
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it's ok
the sun has now arrivedwhere it intendedbefore our knowing knewknowing chickadees house huntingoutside my living roomthey must be compatiblelook at them go on the other side of the glassi’m still searching for lovenear spring’s last morning firewondering about lunch © 2022 Tom Weiss first published in verse-virtual
the sun has now arrivedwhere it intendedbefore our knowing knewknowing chickadees house huntingoutside my living roomthey must be compatiblelook at them go on the other side of the glassi’m still searching for lovenear spring’s last morning firewondering about lunch © 2022 Tom Weiss first published in verse-virtual
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great love remembered
he has found the time,distance from crossings,fuzzy countries trailing, smiling,bringing him backjust across townto see her then as she shimmeredon the dock in the sunher golden hair still goldenas she covered softly perfect breasts,allowing him an innocent joy,exuberance with a camerato take four pictures.myopically chivalrous,he saved just one.
© 2022 Tom Weiss
first published in Flora Fiction
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burning bushes
on my vision questI saw the face of godin three-quarter profileresting in a treefifteen feet off the groundhe spent the night with meleaving at first lightafter he spoke two wordsit’s ok I once paddled the hayes riverto york factory on the hudson bayI saw the seasons change with regionswith a teenage rapper in my bowjust before the tundra on a clear daywe glided by a totem of bearded grandfathersnoticed only by methey said they had been waiting for meso long I learned to call the trees and rocks grandfatherduring my apprenticeship at becomingsomeone like meone night I spoke to a tree on my landI wanted to comfort him (yes, he was male)assure him that faithful stewardswould follow my departureI called him grandfatherand he laughedasking who are you calling grandfather, grandfather?he then told me he’d still be aroundafter I was long gonewho knew trees could be smart asses? when I was considering a moveto north carolinaalong a gentle stretchof the french broadI pulled into pisgah driving slowlywindows downbreathing deeply scented pinethe old oaks called me to a shoulderwhere they explainedthey had been waiting for meso long.I’m glad old oaks and men are patient © 2022 Tom Weiss first published in South by Southeast photomagazine
on my vision questI saw the face of godin three-quarter profileresting in a treefifteen feet off the groundhe spent the night with meleaving at first lightafter he spoke two wordsit’s ok I once paddled the hayes riverto york factory on the hudson bayI saw the seasons change with regionswith a teenage rapper in my bowjust before the tundra on a clear daywe glided by a totem of bearded grandfathersnoticed only by methey said they had been waiting for meso long I learned to call the trees and rocks grandfatherduring my apprenticeship at becomingsomeone like meone night I spoke to a tree on my landI wanted to comfort him (yes, he was male)assure him that faithful stewardswould follow my departureI called him grandfatherand he laughedasking who are you calling grandfather, grandfather?he then told me he’d still be aroundafter I was long gonewho knew trees could be smart asses? when I was considering a moveto north carolinaalong a gentle stretchof the french broadI pulled into pisgah driving slowlywindows downbreathing deeply scented pinethe old oaks called me to a shoulderwhere they explainedthey had been waiting for meso long.I’m glad old oaks and men are patient © 2022 Tom Weiss first published in South by Southeast photomagazine
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deciduous love on a father’s day insidea screened-in porch he satwith coffee and two dogsfurry smooth and gently coola summer morning he was grateful for what wasundeterred by confusionwhile wonderingwhere love goeswhen it goes away he had loved herlike fall breezes love to singrounds of a cappella hymnsin beech tree leaves’parchment paper rustlings he had seen her brightlybasking on her boulderby the river in the sunshe had sometimes seen himwhen he read her poems on a recent day while walkingwoods with fellow seekersa man explained to himthe transpiration of treesgrasping for the light how cambium cells divideso sugars can flow phloemingand waters xylem skywardstrawlets sucking by the thousandstoward a waving green insistence he divined an obverseof transpirationwhere his leaves were evanescingbereaving branches and a barkonce live as cambium seeking comfort from a hickoryhe hoped for what its shagbarkshielded underneathsugars streaming in its sapfor some yet unlived season
© 2022 Tom Weiss first published in South by Southeast photomagazine
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leopard lesson it confirmed what he knewabout god and treeswhen he saw funominally a leopardas he gazed at hergazing at him from highin a reliquary edenmoon of the mara he now knew that knowingwas free to gazes liftedabove the vast flat fieldnot needing to know whyher leopard eyes definean amber green infinityhe had been stalkingthat now stalked him
© 2022 Tom Weiss
first published in South by Southeast photomagazine
photo credit: Cyndy B. Waters