Rosemarie and I had gone to Bertucci’s, in Brookline Village, for lunch in the sunken outdoor terrace, in May of 1994. I really am afraid of heights. Enough to dream about them.
His name is John Cushen and he lives in New Haven still. For his birthday Rosemarie made a collage with a skydiver and a flower and so I wrote this poem.
Kate trained for ballet for many years. Every child’s body can do this. Puberty induces degrees of difference, and Kate, at 16, alone in Champaign/Urbana, had to make a decision.
Rosemarie had given me a book of drawings, representing each of the orchestral instruments being played by a wonderfully detailed alligator. Friends of ours, professional musicians, married about that time, and I sealed an entirely arbitrary association of ideas in this poem for their wedding.
This is a cheap trick, but it was fun to do. The title itself is a technical expression from formal logic, as are many of the terms within the poem.
This was a couple of days after our first moon landing.
Another one of what I sometimes call “the Geek poems”. The art in question is that of designing software.
This image had beset my thoughts for years.