irrelevant (I)

I'm sorry... but...

... go here.

neat-o.

hill-poem

the blue-screen sky
indigo lit, and flashing stars
like street-light on shades

the hills are happy ghosts
whirling high into the air
trailing long fingers of fog

rising immense,
deep, in the drifting haze
sparks twirl
across the slopes
laughter,

the dark country
beyond distance
has thrown its head back
joyfully, to the sky

wingbeats

Won't you take me, sparrow
--just a piece
over the tree-crests
to the foot of the clouds
into the shifting ravines
and ridges above the tile

Go!-- too small,
for the air to notice

wingbeats
less than a leaf waving

go.
the woven branches
you untangle
the buildings rise
hang heavy
below

and you softly flicker
above them

Carry this- take it,
with you up
flitting, go lightly
you, and the piece
that you could carry
slip quietly
across the earth
uncaught

plain-sight

a few stars in the window
my face on the glass, in outline

and nobody knows, but--
the quiet streets are trenches
depth immeasurable,
and the sidewalks the
spreading cracks

and nobody knows, and--
we could hide among the driveways
walk unseen under the palm trees

in plain sight, and in the day light
and there is no one watching

who knows what to watch for

and the last sparks have gone,
have flown-- have fallen,
cold on the sand,
so goes confusion,
the sharp prick of anything
below the stars

we could walk tall, straight
and standing, we could walk
unnoticed, unregarded
there is no one looking
who knows what to look for

we could walk,
unweighed by outlines
in the lee of their reflections
who are caught in their own constellations
walk easy in the shadow
that casts up their eyes as shadow

tango

... in which we stalk (more) people at the coffee-shop.

---

I know you aren't
looking back,
and I am not looking at you--

My eyes on you, and yours
after I--
have looked,

tango-glance,
eye-tango.

But what else is there?--
in a room gaze-crowded,
I step deftly
over the sight-lines

to the wall, and to your face
glancing
and from the cup
to your lips

fled

meet your gaze
with the back of mine

dip your eyes--
with my forehead

... (III)

Will you stay? please stay with me
all you bone-white hours
You cool-blue shadows--
fall always across my shoulders?
You smoke-sweet air
and cloudy water,
will you be in my bones and blood,
through the passing of the cells?

You tall snaking palms,
you hazy hillsides,
still frame my vision?
—cement, dusty and cracked,
walk with me, when I go?

—will you? you--glow against my eyelids?
leave my blood burnt
still wrap the night around me,
behind you

--when I go?

Hurricane-- I

If I was blown
spun-out
and stranded,

and so far from the words I've spoken,
if I stood blocking my own eyes,
talked myself a circle,
if I spun the world and fled
into motion--

--who is watching?

the un-scattered sun,
leaves not snapping,
and the gull-turn slow,

where the sky fell in the water,
and the waves swoll to heaven
and crashed across the sky

I, skimming
the horizon faster
than it was
than me
we crossed, and me
and myself
                 were,

flashing, I--
across the storm-bed
and I could not,
could not
see the shore behind me.