Go forth, love,
follow the bird
that flies from
you into night
so dark it trains
the eyes to watch
for what shimmers
over dirt under rain.
chattering
chill
Category: Wonder
ayah
yet here
To calm the sphere through which the train still barrels on at reckless speed, this Space continues to insist on her arrival, as gossamer vapor to swaddle Time.
dogear
creased cosmos
If the only given I may assume asserts this universe as a story in pieces, with each unseen place a fiction to be assembled from salvaged shards of knowns and unknowns found and undiscovered bits, then my only conclusion may be to wonder at the mosaic brilliance of the map that swallows the all that any of us witnesses, in the valley of the trace of a single fold.
after Dionne Brand
containment
of excess
O vine, sparrow, minnow, snail:
it warms the slow blood
of this brooding being
to long to take such forms
instead of the too much
of me in this one.
.
substance
of things unseen
Hello, strange angel.
What fire, what incessant iridescence
when I meant to keep cool
pretending to know you.
a.m. notes
by river bed
Here it is again: you, falling
from another heaven at daybreak;
sob of thunder, waking, to play agin
against the dealer’s fixed chips.
You know you won’t get out of here
alive, but can’t keep yourself
from trying.
Meanwhile, outside leaves
pearl hot beads
of late-morning mist
alert and insistent––
long past the hour
when the last god slipped
from leaking basket
of a drowning heir to call
after one of the prophets
groaning another toothache
from too much gnashing of teeth
to make another now from the next
application of warm rum
to gums stayed through mornings
by sleep.
There is so much
more to do, and we with teeth
still in us, some keep on
keeping,
biding time.
flutter
beneath wing
What but hurt can teach
the proper handling
of injured parts?
Only lavish care,
abiding.
What can measure
what reaches beyond
reason? A single breath
may not be enough
to contain this volume,
and yet–––I cannot
while living keep
from the next.
Yes, come in.
Come in.
vine
and branch
Starlight scatters wound flint paths of old songs to remember scales in rain.
mist
mourn
after the melt,
what strange mold
creeps where blood
once ran, its sound
less pulse, more drum
vibrancy
life beyond ideas
What moves hand, root, tide, bud, breath––
is no abstraction, but the trembling in each
listening leaf.