The Midnight of His Mind

 

As he speaks to me

Of his troubles,

 

Someone I know

Stands in a doorway

 

That connects two

Rooms: the past

 

And the future.

The past is painful

 

To look at,

And the future

 

Seems so

Far away,

 

But both

Are steeped in

 

Shadows where

A few lights

 

Softly flicker

And die away.

 

 

Ni Zan’s Remote Streams and Cold Pines

 

I.
Wandering far
From the city, I

 

Followed her,

Captivated

 

By her hips’

Graceful

 

Movements,

Until she ran

 

Too far ahead

Of me, for me

 

To find her

Anywhere.

 

II.

 

Instead, I come
To find autumn

Emptiness,
Sparse leaves,

Gently flowing
Streams, the broad

Expanse of the sky
Without clutter,

Calming. I point
To the mountain

In the distance.
I look away

For a moment,
And it’s gone.

 

 

The Dead Sparrow Patterns

 

Down the stairs. Out the door.

Dead sparrow. Time for work.

 

Back from work. Dead sparrow.

Up the stairs. The day is done.

The blue light of the morning.

On the sidewalk. Dead sparrow.

 

The red glow of the evening.

Home is near. Dead sparrow.

 

For days. Still dead. Still there.

The sparrow lies coldly on his side.

 

I suspect the weather confused him.

Sun one day. Snow the next.

 

I pity his poor decisions,

So like a person’s.

 

It makes me think. Of mistakes,

Of patterns of mistakes. In theory,

 

If one understands the patterns,

One will be able to perceive

 

The right time: to escape

The patterns. Of mistakes.

 

by Joshua Paul Bocher

 

Joshua Paul Bocher’s poetry has appeared in such journals as Illuminations, The Germ, and The East Coast Literary Review. He has degrees in writing and literature from Brown and Harvard. Previously, he lived abroad in Taiwan for two and a half years. Currently, he lives with his wife in Somerville, MA and works for non-profits in the Boston area.

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