the shot to my chest woke me up. darkness.

snow falling through the night. our bed was warm,

breathing. god had not died.

 

lives cautiously within the sound of his own name.

trusts windows that question the passage of light.

will never understand being shaken by the wind.

 

from an inscription etched on water i learned to tie

a small voice to falling leaves.

when i find you will you be looking for me?

will we know which one is alive?

 

liquid. as a lake between two waters.

as the flooded ark of home.

my shadow in water shall die of thirst.

 

found a coin in last night's loam. 

smaller than silver. larger than gold. 

the child's cup of moonlight throws a blue shadow. 

where mist rakes its tines. 

soul throbs.

 

a blue lake sleeps at the foot of a blue mountain. where my 

life is an island adrift. poems sail into a mirrorless day.

each end of the sky moored to a single blue tree.

 

rain falls without clouds. without sky. without judgment. timber

by timber the old structures are brought down. a poet of white flowers,

lying near death, discovers salt in the depths of heaven.

 

the night you are not conceived silent messengers

come and go. to say a dark cathedral better houses the moon.

let me never forget how i abandoned my home.