Diane Lee Moomey Poems

The lights are going out, dear—one
by one. Circuits short—listen! the crack

of lines downed, drowned by water rising
...

Above the spare tire but below
the blower and its orange cord,
among the pruning shears, dog treats
and bags of bone meal; beside the hula hoe
...

I'm opening a Brie for you. I'll set
it where its shoulders, creamy firm, will slump
into the warmth of afternoon, and where
what breeze there is today will carry news
...

Beneath the borealis we are wrapped
in down and Dacron, glove in glove. Our love
tonight's an argument about Intent:
you name this radiance Divine, with rapt
...

You could, fed up
with red and blue flashing lights
and sickened by the siren howls
of human misery that never stop, could
...

No king came riding to the door this morning
dressed in cloth of gold, no magus robed
in deeper thought; nor shepherds, country men
with woolen robes askew from sleeping rough
...

But I remember every lip, and where,
and all the hands that ever cupped my cheek;
recall the day and season bringing each
and bearing each away: our mingled hair,
...

In the first world, the sun
rose only every other day and the moon
fell from the sky because
the gravity module worked
...

You'd drive me home the long way
through Nobleton and Kleinburg, their window-dark houses —
our own windows down, our summer dark, its colorless moon—
my lower meadow thick with fireflies,
...

It's not
that thoughts of being dead alarm
me, but that berries
bloom along my arms, created by the touch
...