11/18/17




the places we visit twist in the wind
like so many deaths freshly made
dogs at the back door preparing 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



11/16/17




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



11/14/17




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



11/12/17




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



11/11/17




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



11/10/17




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



11/7/17




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



11/6/17




my skin is old
thin
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



11/5/17




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



11/4/17

11/2/17




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



11/1/17




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



10/31/17




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



10/30/17




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



10/29/17




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



10/27/17




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



10/24/17




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



10/21/17




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



10/20/17




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



10/19/17




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



10/16/17




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



10/14/17




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



10/11/17




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



10/9/17




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



10/8/17




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



10/7/17




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



10/5/17




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



10/3/17




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



10/2/17




the smallest island will come home    make nowhere far away






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



9/30/17




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



9/29/17

9/28/17




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



9/25/17




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



9/22/17




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



9/21/17




the struggle to fall out of sleep    when dawn is the bed of being someone else



9/19/17




past the past of where i was born    is the September of wanting to take someone there






just these hands in which i cannot stop living the little good    done wrong



9/18/17




in marvelous silence death's seedling grows    and blinds what's hard to know



9/15/17




the cry being crushed is the depth of the dream no one is interested in living






work in the fog of daylight    hardly know who i am in the river of night






how the invisible can begin to hum    is what the maple in my cornfield knows



9/14/17




the field your dreams work knows no light until death scratches an eye



9/12/17




just the mirror that painted her face    there is no one else in my privacy



9/10/17




most beautiful daybreak he ever saw    was a sky created by others



9/7/17




time to fold up the unfinished world    swim away into the night



9/6/17




the bones of my birth fetched a price    became the whisper in another's life



9/5/17




listening in another's arms knows all my heart is made of






deliver me from clothes and skin    from wind and the crow brought in



9/1/17




whose bones in the ocean of today have guided my hand beyond






walk in a small garden that maybe someone came to fear



8/31/17




does the voice of one who is dead gamble away the phantoms one knows






the eyes of the sheet you lowered over your body stop at dawn



8/26/17




more silence in life than life in the universe—sky, at other times






i am back in the house a child would know the instant sky goes to stone



8/24/17




when weeds make me their living path    into a canyon too inessential to follow



8/23/17




i refuse to inherit anything smaller than god's journey through our rooms



8/22/17




from the portrait of the man born a slave    i walk outside of healing






and what if the heart giving birth to the child prefers the hush and the heat of an attic



8/21/17




what lightning remembers will never wound    is the moon returned to its river



8/19/17




leaning over the edge of august    the horn of the wounding moon was true






who is ironweed staggers stars    this hand i dipped in its spring






too dark to tell the sun i have seen where the last garden on earth has run



8/18/17




one chord of light searingly close but you learn the guide that guides the hand






and if i could find my child as a child again in the memory of blue Japanese iris



8/17/17




if i knew the name you called yourself    would that rub sight into my eyes






captives are those who return and return—i am a potato surrounded by mountains



8/13/17




how do we gather whispers of blood as they fall from a buried shadow






from the trees there is a cry, saddled, waiting    is the sound of the dark in our house



8/12/17




why do elderberries continue to dream until each drop of blood returns



8/9/17




keeping things whole in the absence of wind :: here's a body gathering its shell






call of the owl beside a dream :: or a pine taking leave of the night



8/7/17




years pass in a single white blossom    i think no one looks in or out






how is it i know the escape of small winds has answered the prayers in my breath



8/5/17




in the early life of the mother of the rose    you are the one afraid of flowers






8/2/17