tiny poems by Grant Hackett
what if my father dies
on the day of my child's death
or before i'm conceived
what if he dies
with his back turned to me
black truck arrives
as a silence
from a whisper
a story
night
death
its driver
its wings
silence
whisper
story
truck
wind unweaves
soul shapes speech
a new moon's seed
wherever i sleep
awake alone unguarded
snow immeasurable
forest kneels
man searches for his heart
i wake
finished
it was a long and lovely read
as i behold a bell breaking into light what shall the sleeper hear
there is always a voice drinking and dying
there is always a noisy fountain dying of thirst
there is the naked silence
of the friend who loves you
a woman releases the raven's feather
that whispers her name
this Ohio grows old within me
my body no longer dreams it is a river
found a coin
in night's loam
smaller than silver
larger than gold
like you
i am lost
to you
i owe my life
in my country there is no longer a straight path
foundations of home study the way of the waters
i share a blanket with the man who has no legs
sightless flesh
gathering strength to see
haunted by the moon
am i
dawn
the sacred eye closing
dreams journey back to the country of the dead
birds changing place with stars
coals burn in cold black sky
cold sky burns within woodstove coals
January
wind
god
giving birth
to the birth of god
reaching the high meadow
clouds making empty music
an eagle
emerges
new snow in winter darkness
death dream comes from nowhere
i am a white stone who can climb the sky
i remove tarp from woodpile
snow scuds
blue smoke from chimney lofting
into bluer panes of catholic sky