The theologian toils through the morning,
Naming,
Comparing,
Classifying.

Such difficult work!
Such heavy lifting!

Fatigued, he sets aside his glasses,
Goes into the garden after lunch to
Weed roses,
Shovel manure,
Prune branches,
Rake the beds.

Midst perfumed blooms
And sweat
His strength returns!

Lifting both arms,
Smiling,
He floats upward through green light,

Complete.

(Tucson — Spring 1999)

Laying aside his hat,
He flung his carcass to the ground
Swanly saying:

                    It took so long to get here
                    I forgot I was coming.

And later on the great redoubt,
Surrounded by pantyloons descending
He said:

                    Double-dawg dare ye
                    Double-dawg dare ye.

How did it go?

                    Mighty slow.
                    Mighty slow.

(Paris — 1995)

It is said that man must be violent.
But I ask you this:
Why is it,
That in a forest of a thousand trees,
The shafts rise straight as arrows,
But come to no point?

(Austin, Texas — February 3, 1993)