as complete as the world before it yields to your becoming    is what the stone and i compose


men used as graveyards :: my name there makes forgetting impossible


an abandoned street is walking with me    back to the point of time that changed


the wound her cheek left on the moon :: the shadows i throw at a stone


a fire as small as my sleep in your side    is the eye of the heart

the dream outside of me i somehow startled    a brightness i did not do

my light hangs from the sky like death in a hive    like salt opening its hand


blue is brave    like speaking from the space inside a seed    like night on god

child to the thirsty sea    do not teach but draw me


the tenderness of a stem in my mouth :: what cannot be gathered from your eyes

when do we risk becoming a river isn't a question of desire


because the clear song of the sky must be preserved my roof melts away in the cold


when started i was dust    dew filled with moon    fire in an unformed mouth


how did crows in a sky that has never been become the light of the world


we undress together    down to our satchel of lost poems    refusing to be more than alive


a corpse knows nothing about its garden    the way we live is not even dying

the two ends of the sky hang from one stark tree    a day too cold to plant death

yearning for the honey of the sadness of your skin    i give in to the moon in the window


in this garden that grows what cannot be acquired    my darkness quivers with snow


between stone and star i have learned slowly    how on one black wing we spin

in the ear of the cry between sycamore and moon    i open all my windows


those who say there is no one to see
            is where every living thing has gone


in a field full of light and death
            it grows hard to see the one who will come


winter stars slip into us one by one    the skies of our vanishing grow large

within the rose who never tires    my heart gives birth to many hands


the dying sun stares into my sky as if awakening is near


a small horse leans
into her juniper tree—
no other life but sky

because i also cling to birth
this december sun
is warming


the little river is watching
            and crows that stitch the morning sky
                        and those who have died    but had eyes


dreams that visit when we are most awake :: the snow i bury underground

piece by piece    like the wood i split    to feed flames that are going blind


the inner space of snow is vast and skin—do i hear our yearnings agree?



orchid bud swells inside
so many suns crowding the exit
i give birth to a sky that refuses to curve


what i want to say drew
its last breath—
            beheld became what can’t be changed

cut limbs falling
upon awakened ground—
            the silence that follows called wound


the driver of the chestnut mare is waiting like a friend
black cart quiet
the wind you’ve become


today we cleaned the gardens for winter
left smoking piles of disbelief
dug up a crescent moon


i hear the clatter of nothing falling
at midnight in the kitchen—
my wife wakes up, dies
sunlight weeping from her eyes


sat through the storm last night
            wondered where all that rain fell—
tight roof, sound mind, eternity chasing its tail

freshly made, i twist in the wind
            snake skin returning to an earlier molt
            the dark in a dog set to howl


a catalpa leaf bares its teeth, rakes
my face over and over
makes blood flow clear as water

i stand naked in the wind this morning
sky flies backward toward a sun
darker than light can see


like the child up in a tree
staring lost through swarming leaves
your being has entered the dream


squirrel will be killed again yesterday
there on the road—
whose future measured by the number of feeding crows


moon whimpers
harvesters slit the night
father cannot find child in the stubble of the field


the night i wasn’t conceived
still stirs the mind—
blue leaves gently coming loose


the calm face is in another country
another world—
we walk from Ohio to vote for it

the joy of motionless motion
comes after death
when you are the morning every ginkgo leaf falls

traveler sleeps late, hurries away
neighbor outside raking dreams
answer the ringing phone with imbricate possibilities


my face slides off in a November rain
swirls round the circular drain
sucked into the moon

rain before dawn
dawn ends the dream
the rain could be starlings, or not


my skin is old
you can see to anywhere through it

cracks in my ceiling
close themselves to hear
footsteps of moss on the roof

when the fly on the screen
            crawled out of my eye
                        there was an entire world to build


a little sunlight travels
from nowhere outside
lies down in the gutters i clean



the act of alone
is giving birth inside me
she holds one ginkgo leaf in her hand

my silent womb
your useless wings
each life leashed to its unreal binding

she stepped into the water
a stone without skin
felt for the first time cold winds


the distance from every star to here
is here—haar
connects every dark center to dark


concrete sun sinks into ruin
now my roof leaks the sorrow of light
now we must believe in the sleeping mind

just before dawn the sky is slick with ice
one could fall and die
where wild geese are dreaming


of more than can be borne
there are stains—
how else could we come to be

what belongs in the earth
has been give cold wings
not unlike birth without a sound


so i get here slowly
on footsteps half-finished
a maple leaf torn free in the blast

small light in heart
flickers to the stars
remembering for the first time it is lost


a neighbor's sweet gum tree was hollow
and those inside said they never heard more
than the barking of the moon


mother's face multiplied
in numberless drops of rain
till she knows what it is i see

a hard and difficult rain drives us outdoors
as small animals in cages
addressed to fire

four crows named Jesus fly
into a neighbor's naked maple tree—
in white skin death wraps me


i look back at my empty shoes
is how flesh
must leave the sea


brought us all to quiet without warning    no hint of eternity or dust


there is sorrow in the way we breathe :: so many suns half-dead in our hands

where my dreams cross the border    the night sky begins again


no moon hurries the dark cloud home    yet ten thousand morrows slide past

outside of sorrow and silence    not all who shine are among the alive


do we know we really never move away—but what if i close the silence


become that that cannot be returned to    lift up what's left of what the dream spoke


you've had the dream of how heaven is    now can you keep it gone forever


the way and the where of the beginning of all    you were given in last night's dream

the eye above Yellow Springs sees in his own way    that being here has nothing inside


future is memory    hunger is flesh—every day since it has rained

the final word knows    but can't tell what's coming    came from dying far away


small as the first house of soul    if small might save the world

going from death to flesh is to be numberless    thus i have come to life utterly alone


the dreamer opens and shuts like an eye    where animals are burning to sleep

because distance is sad and always of love    there is the forest we cannot lay hold of


the smallest island will come home    make nowhere far away

would it be your first howl roaming the loose wind—what makes you listen


moon is when your hands release    what the corpse leaves behind

the moon they are burning everywhere—now how much nowhere is left inside

from the other side of the light you left    are your windows heavy with snow

river reach    where trout hear me breathe    a deep to follow



blood rising from the smoke of the man i was :: i'll be back in another memory


all things go on in the track left by dust    thus i feel where the dry country wails


when you've salted the sea and schemed what no one attains    i'll tell me who i am