use a sweet knife, love, where i am lost

 

stranger things come to pass than standing in line for time

 

full of the useless

yet i pull a few weeds

study knots on the faces of trees

 

warm sun on an april stone no heavier than a spiral

 

witnessed by watery light that is never not here

you shall appear and reappear

and i shall awaken

 

wash peace from your words

launch a maelstrom

walk through the split in your soul

 

like something yellow you would do :: daffodil

 

blood in the river

blood in the breeze

the safest place to be is lost

 

apple blossoms weighted

with snow

they ask me where we are going

 

thinned by mist

the mountain grows tired

grass quietly eating rain

snowflakes :: staying in touch after death

 

the long sentence of the voice at three in the morning, blameless

 

 

o keeper of darkness, don't we walk into life through parallel doors

 

a man breaks down, but i don't speak about the weight of the stone

 

the cherry blossom

you held out

was you

 

poems just published in tiny wren lit (issue 6) and chrysanthemum (issue 32)!

 

wind blows my fingers off

            small fossils

free of mind

 

            emerging

from a random sky

      a withered tree

 

a child and his face

have all the light

            the sea lies flat

 

five monostich:

the long limbs of human light ascending

a face without eyes the moon spills its sand

an audience reading around the desk of solitude

empty chairs in a cornfield a birthing begins

coming home to the guardian stone

 

an old rain is staring out the window

high in the winter trees

my garden has built a nest

 

spring rain :: fat stones

 

within an earlier melody

unknown outside the dream

are the lands i am and will learn to perceive

 

whose expanse of lake is sane enough

to receive the grace

of winter geese

 

being asleep while two calling owls speak the language of night

            rain's rhythm

dawn chorus

            the river begins

 

afraid of the eclipse :: i was right to be

 

droning engines die

                wind sound

                               vast

 

death of the sun

            tomorrow, eclipse

                        shadow of man, of moon

 

blue-green lichen

            on rain-darkened trees

                        journal of dreams

 

in the last car of the train

            nodding asleep, holding the way home

                        open

 

a rainbow 

            to end the day—

three journeys in last night's sleep

 

three monostich:

dreaming snow last night in different lives

the same bed years apart restored from ashes

small beginning dropped in the night in the soil

 

doves are nesting in a yard i've stopped speaking to

 

opened the window

dropped an ant

into spring

 

no mountains here

            —what is higher

than thunder

 

geese flying

            a pair—

no gazing at the sky

 

in a sweet scented breeze

            i don't know

whose petals