Was There a Coat in the Hall?

He became a fairy tale
With a talent for the dark
Arts of allegory,

Or an allegory
With a talent for the dark
Twist of a fairytale.

Last night’s rain left the street.
Now, clouds on the ice-field
Advance and then retreat,

Teasing views of new snow.
The weather has shifted—
Warmer, drier, weirder

All in all—but autumn
Still looks most like autumn
And no other season.

So, what’s the story here?
Man in a long black coat
Was recently spotted

Lurking under maples
As their leaves sifted down.
There’ve been two funerals,

And one death so far left
Unaddressed. That third death
Was the strangest. A man

Who had been sick for years
Had an uncommonly
Good and vigorous day—

Went for a walk, boasted
He’d gotten the better
Of death, strolled home and packed

For a trip he hadn’t
Planned to take. Gave himself
A hair cut. Then sat down

And waited for morning,
When he was found seated,
Still, dead, his hands folded.

Could have been fairy tale,
Maybe allegory.
What about that black coat?

With All the Writing and All the Lake

Morals and principles
Are not as well-suited
To each other as thought.
A principle is bound
To lead to immoral
Behavior, and moral
Behavior may require
Breaking with principle.

Do you prefer morals
Or principles? Either
Sounds good, and few people
See the contradiction
As inevitable.
It’s inevitable.

Feel Yourself Sinking Down

Here’s how you have to hunt for them.
They are not true intersections—
Not places real roads intersect,

Just crossed fragments of two short paths
Discovered in the shady woods,
The blocked back alleys, old meadows,

Two short strips. They appear lonely.
They look misplaced, as if someone
Had started some kind of project

But never got past the crossed paths.
These are the real crossroads where deals
Are sworn between souls and demons.

What is it devils crave in souls,
Currency common in heaven?