Circuit Breaker

by Jeff Burt

We wiped the glasses on our sleeves
but dirty they remained, so lifted the bottle

and the pitch of our throats and poured an inch
just over the lips, to quench and calm

your tremors from the A of AC splitting sense
from expertise, to still the tympani

pounding in my gut from the D of DC
severing time into life and death.

Then we laughed, splashed a second round,
said next time we’d flip the switch,

and rose quivering in joke and audacity,
fused by fear and its common electrification.

Since the Day That I Read Dante

by Jeff Burt

whenever I meet a friendly woman a flower comes to mind:
gladiola for the large and pure of heart,

jasmine for wide and starry-eyed,
hyacinth for the lusty, daisies for the childlike.

But when I see you braiding your hair
in silent intimacy, each turn and counterturn

resembles the journey of your questing spirit,
and I see you as one woman bearing many, not mythical

and larger than life, but various and real.
You are the prairie full of wild prairie roses,

the trail-side filled with purple amarantus,
lattice and hedgerow, the vines of morning glory.