The Hawk West Desk Window 8:30pm
The Hawk Inlet is calm
reflecting a thick & hazy sunset
The Cape is green
along Its jagged dunes
One Puzzled Mosquito
spies on Me
through the window
as I sit on My Desk
The Tomato-coloured Couch 5:15pm
Dr Blair has a modern house
keeping A New York City Artist
next to the sea shore
She dances to Radioactive in Her Bathrobe
drinking a beer
& talking on the phone
out on The Hawk Deck
where She wonders if Her Voice
carries
The Hawk Deck 4:30pm
The Clouds look painted on
— not fake — just oily & slim
(if I knew brush sizes I could tell You)
across from The West heavier & streaked
to The East knotty & piled
The Sun is somewhere
coming around to the back of My House
for setting later
maybe I’ll get My Beer
The Hawk Deck 2:50pm
There is something like magic
in the stillness here
with only The Birds
— even They have settled —
the breeze is lulling
I cannot even hear the surf
The Hawk Deck 11:30am
I Am God THE OBSERVER
I Am God THE LISTENER
I Am A Human Being
In Love With The Land
Where She Lives
The Hawk Deck 9:55am
I have The Solace
of a Day In June
cool, but garbed in My Grey Bathrobe
I am ready for a cup of tea
& more Bird Song
June 4, 2013 The Hawk West Desk Window 10:30pm
I Have Three Regrets:
ended up buried
& capped
in The Orangetown Dump
in Rockland County, New York
–
Five Copies
of My 364-page Manuscript Monument
to The Death of My Mother
ended up shredded
and put out by
the side of the road
here on The Hawk
–
The Third
was of My Body
and doesn’t fall within
This Category of Art
but the regret I feel
for this death
will never be acceptable
–
How Different Would My Life Have Been —
How Different From The Comparative Perfection
In Which It Is Lived NOW?
On the Indistinction of the One and the
Exclusion of the Good in Meister Eckhart
“I Am The Child —
Big Black Book Upon My Lap
A Smattering Of The Universe
Bespotting This Page
Of Lights
From My Diamond Rings”
The Tomato-coloured Couch 4:47pm
The Hawk Deck 11:25pm
I Am God
And From God
I Am Not Separate
From The Tiny Wing-ed Bug
On My White Sleeve
The West Desk Window 9:11am
I kissed My Doctor/Husband good-bye
This Morning
for His 13-hour shift —
when He got out of His Bath
He said This Month makes
50 Years
Joanna Gilman Hyde 