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)

for Athena, Who Still Has Not Picked Up Her Airline Ticket

I wonder about the lonely ticket,
I wonder if it will go to waste,
I wonder if she’s afraid of flying,
I wonder if she’s reading this
And sighing—

“Oh Dad, stop your fretting,
Do stop worrying me so,
I’ll get there in good measure,
Will arrive at my own pleasure.”

And so I’m reduced to bad poetry,
Reduced to a father’s art:
To love and to let go,
To presume silence does not mean no.

(Prague — September 26, 2001)