Luggage Poems


all my books collect dust

except the one of love poems

you gave me that day

when the spring rains

kept us indoors



my lips always tingled

when I kissed her—

true love, she whispered

I didn’t say

cat allergy



the way you look at me

while I rub your arms—

you are the painting

I have never painted

a thousand times



summer breeze

lifts a corner

of our picnic basket—

I place a grape

on your outstretched tongue



perhaps I dream

to much of you—

but, for all the world

that summer cloud

is the shape of your face



these roses

in a porcelain vase—

I cannot believe

yet I want to believe

they are from you



she points to the sundog

and asks

if it means anything

I tell her it means

I love you



our ladder propped

against the gutter—

you turn to see

if I am here

steadying it



jingle of the dog’s collar

out in the hall—

we pause

in our lovemaking,

Christmas Eve



dans le corridor
le cliquetis du collier du chien
notre pause
en faisant l’amour—
veille de Noël



morning sun

warming our sheets . . .

for a moment

as you slide your body down,

your nipple in my navel



a snail has left

its delicate silver trail

on my book of love poems

left out on your porch




at last we depart

after lingering

in embrace—

the echo of your footsteps

in the fog



ink stain

on the pillow slip—

what else but write

can I do

while you’re gone



her plane disappears

into starlight . . .

and somewhere

in her luggage

my love poem

The translation of the “jingle of the dog’s collar” poem into French is by Mike Montreuil and Huguette Ducharme, from Atlas Poetica, 2010, in which I was one of twenty-five poets in a feature focusing on Canadian tanka poets.