winter, undying

the thin shadow
of the over-pass
I saw them rolling
bags of fish
down the sere sides of the canal
in the waving grass

I saw them scooping
up from the mud
fish from the lakes that had been drained
when the delivery-men
were long gone from
sunning themselves on the banks

the land of winter, undying

and I recalled,
in the shade of the bamboo
whispering, under the heat and fury
of the light, pouring
through the leaves
the drum heart-beats echoing
from some far cold night

the wind sings in the grass, now
the sky thin and clear,
broke free—

the day arches
cracked and bright

the icy
sunlight whips
through the branches
tears
across the ground

distance
hangs in shreds
the winter, undying

and the far rolling beat
rolls in me now
--all that was
--is, and will be
echoes

will come

light

        sunlit grind-stones

filed your eyes 

a flash in the branches

        would turn them back

to slice

all the sunlit days within you

        banish the heavy

and the sweetness

the haze in the harsh

glare of the light

              you have learned

you made cities

      of the dirt and the last

light on the clouds

tear your hands out

from them

      and there is dust

no rubble

you--

scattered on the hillsides

you--ruins

in the empty sunlight

you--might

with the lizards darting

in the jagged

walls and broken tiles

--that the truth

would not spare--

you--might

it could not take your hands

you might stand

with 

       cities,

in your palms

you might tear into time

the borders of the stolen countries

the names of the broken backs

                         you might rend the light, even

in the shadow

of your arms

     

        

cul-de-sac

               so I must 

--and we, 

has fallen

                  behind

my hands empty--

I hold, only--the lines

                        on my palms

      the flat light, the wood

siding, straight and fading

and surely-the shadows

were empty, and the velvet

dark, simply the blurring

of lashes--

--surely the world is flat

dull and lined, surely

it must be empty?

                          from rib

to rib

         the echo

launches

                    itself

                    through the dark

    

and far away

the ghosts

        are laughing

        and stamping

                        and the thud

is on my bones

         throw their heads back

here--where the street

ends in houses

the world sprawling

and still

             --don't feel its

own hands

I am perched

on my 

ribs--listening

and slack

                in my skin

this was meant to be a hymn

this was meant to be a drum-beat

this was meant to call

this is nothing

                     but an echo--

the words shriveled

and fell from the pale

and brittle--

        don't say the wind speaks

it whistles and scratches

                              -only.

surely, I am 

full of echoes

                --surely

my words

are shadows--

surely I will not answer again.

flight

I wouldn't call it sweet

           sweet like wind, maybe--

which cuts and cools, and rushes

           it seems love 

has been a flood of purpose

and that the overflow

    pools across my soul

           shame, and joy, and desire--

but no matter-- 

                       I rise, caught

in a higher current

                       they reflect a

   blind fierce flight.

crow

perched on the step
and cawing
with the quicksilver clouds,
sliding across the sky
it would be something--
to flap, cackling
towards the eaves
it would be something
--and no small thing
to roll them across my feathers

drink

         I am lying here under window

in the soft cold

and slowly drinking my memories

           every sweetness, rich and light

every sharp tinge of acid

every deep and oaky

bitterness

and the cool waves

of desire pulse in me

--the cool and clear

all the fermented instants

                           I will stagger

through my days here

graze myself on every moment

                oh you!--shallow, fickle sunlight 

you vapid chirping sparrows

you specious, bustling seconds

you ever-dripping leaves

you bruised and seeping sky!

           --it was real, and it was so.        

what else am I drinking? 

                        what other absence

                                         drives my thirst?