Wm. Kerin Rizos


On a Bridge of Light


I need to remember
How this light in November
Mirrors imperfectly still,
The light that will again be April

 

 

Two Lives; In Fragments

Sunlight puddles
where your shadows
used to be

Blue eyes opened in your fingers
dispensing grace in an ordinary day;
still, the smell of clay
that marked your stay

Memory keeps these evenings green,
preserving the dried leaves
of the year you died

Love ensures blessings blossom into loss;
I carry your deaths like a cross

 

 

 

 A Moment in March

Across this landscape,
from the deep white
of winter’s prison,
Spring’s refracting
prism

releases the inmate,
Color.

 

 

Once


This kind of once
Comes only twice,
Each minutely briefer
Than the in between.

In each instance
We will need
Another’s help –
With the coming in

And the taking out

 

 

 

 

For My Mother

In a like way
in which
I no longer
see you
standing
at the kitchen window,
on a summer morning
just home from Mass,
smiling and waving,

so too
this will come to pass;
a night will come
bright and starless
when I will not
come in from the barn.

finally,
no one to wave to

 

 

 

 

Wm. Kerin Rizos lives and writes in Upstate New York.