Architect
(for Eugene Sternberg)
(Ya’ gotta’ ask what it means, the jazz
man says, ya’ ain’t never gonna’ know)
Think the man on the other side
of the deli composing a perfect egg
salad on rye with the darkest green
garnish, an eden-delight my tongue
weeps for, or Sophie refusing to fold
carelessly at the Speed-o-Mat
shaping perfect shirts on wire skeletons
and trousers seam to seam, think Carmen
cleaning rooms at the Blue Dove
Inn against her will still
she draws the night shades meticulously
arranges mints on impeccable pillows, or
you with your fine disregard for all but
the space between: nature’s random invite to
this and that or the ten thousand things
an architect’s sketch: love
’s holy madness defying
the raw law of gravity
no need to speak it
