THE WHITE HOUSE (2005)

On the Southeast side, a mile high
the news of another end
chimes as a warning 
and I do not cry this time.

Across the Anacostia we are
black and white—divided even in the house on the hill
I can feel the world rupturing 
into pieces.

There are fault lines
tearing through a billion lives
or more,
convincing us that boundaries
truly do exist.

But is it a matter of falling through the cracks?

I’m back on a park bench
But this time physics don’t make sense.
A lack of familiarity doesn’t
prevent the pause, the breath, and 
the breaking point.

Death is dying all around me.

POTENTIAL ENERGY (2005)

Let us awake this summer morning
  to the reservation of dawn.
And before we are able to comprehend motion
or time, we’ll measure the distance and
space of a fallen dew drop,
Hesitate before the sun exhales, and then
step into its crepuscular rays of direction
(split the sky vertically;
split my progression laterally)
The trees are vying for that same radiance
of resting potential—even now we still fail to realize
that both motion and time are centripetal.
The exchange of our walking language is
a sublimation of the truths we wade through
made into a fresh energy—defying gravity
amongst the clouds.

On a park bench the physics return to me—
a blue canopy made empty except
for the tanning interaction.
You are my equal
You are my opposite.
One dandelion seed separates from its stem
and despite the hushed wind
it will not rest.
I am the mass.
You are the acceleration.
Who is the outside force?