Michael J. Galko, two poems


Now to take a moment for all the poems this did not in fact become

that image

of the soft avocado flesh

turning slowly brown…

that ending

where every last eyelash

flutters alone…

these are

the woodworker’s sawdust,

the sculptor’s shavings,

lying still on the floor

by the new bench, the new piece,

waiting for the old broom…

My wedding band sits in Reykjavik harbor

For a brief moment it twirled

in the arctic dusk, then dove.

From a distance, throwing arm

in silhouette, feet rooted on the

lava breakwall, it might have

seemed an act of spite. It was not.

What happiness the ring enclosed–

I gave thanks for that. Its gold

I returned. May its glint catch

the beady eye of a langoustine