FRANCIS MASAT

The Poetry Of.
Francis Masat......................................

We Are Gone

Attic to basement all here - and there;
old and new, borrowed, blue.
Riches to rags all here, too - a life in review.
Mugs that bred in dusty cabinets,
games and toys from every season,
summer reading by the pound,
souvenirs and treasures by the arm load.

....."Where on earth did those come from?"
..... "I didn't know we had so much junk!"
..... "No, I don't need anymore of those!"
..... "Comes to every sale, but never buys."
..... "This is my Mama and her Mama."

Neighbors, friends, family - pick a piece.
Stranger, buy a piece of my heart, of me!
Voices bid, eyes flutter, and fingers calculate.
Junk? Treasure? It was life. And now?
Bid now? Bid later? Bid More? Too late!

....."Can't afford nuthin' no more."
..... "Can't believe its come to this."
..... "We're moving too."
..... "Everything's changed."
..... "Our sale is Saturday, a month."

Piece by piece and by the lot, items disappear.
As if measuring every item's life, the sun
inches past until it all is over and we are gone.

Outside My Backseat Window

As trees fleck a sparkling brook,
red clouds above keep pace.
I catch a last and sleepy look
as sunset lights a fleeting face,
outside my backseat window.

Racing ground
blurs to brown,
fields of gold
and green unfold,
outside my backseat window.

At night, I fall asleep again
connecting stars in space
and when I wake the world is rain,
of night, there's not a trace,
outside my backseat window.

Traffic boasts a busy play
where signs direct the cast,
and in the newborn light of day
appears my home at last,
outside my backseat window.

Stars Each Time

Dusk again and the lake's surface
fills with stars pushed and pulled
by the pulse of water-gliders..
A bright star appears as if called
by the lone nighthawk circling
in silence along the dark shore.

After skimming rocks, the stars
return each time. Their gathered light
is enough to start a frog chorus,
but barely silvers the curve of a thigh.
No light is needed for the hint
of salt on cheek, neck, and ... .

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