Disappear into the preset day

                 Disappear into the preset day
Envelop black shadows stairs down
                    Cold basement dreams
                        are not fantasies
Are not possible in the wrong crowd
        Who is listening only the poets
who have not heard enough poetry yet
            (probably not daughters or sons
    of poets themselves)
                jealousy or… schadenfreude…
        lost sunglasses beside the car
                    thanatophobia…
            translating all the time is WORK.

    …how primary parents know things
                the books about to fall over
the house feels stuffy
                    looking up at first light
            through southern pine trees
    dark teak table scrolled carved leaf shapes
                airy base
                    orange red mod colored plate
    holding tea and milk in stainless
steel cup (still around from days
        of my youth)
                        still a blank

            waiting for filling

        (you’ve never felt like writing?)