grounded

the thick, heaped

green

shed it's burden

one morning--when the storms

lit the sky

green, in the night

I saw the herons

winging in droves

over the lake--thawing

clouds come down

to brush the water

oh drifters--I saw the hawks

winging, high

and tight, driving

hard circles

above the freeway

oh hunters--and have seen

the sparrows fluttering

and the crows drifting

between the roofs

and hopping

along the pavement

--yes, I have seen them

hold the sky in their wings

I have seen them,

blurring into the air

when my eyes jelled

and went to water

in my skull

gone to water

my blood to boil

the ice to scratch

my veins

but I will be bone

I will cup the sky

in my head

someday--

I will cut the wind

in my skull

I will cut it to thunder

I will snarl it

into lightning

cracking

--someday

I will break the sky--

and stack it

high

venice

and stares from the Duomo

clutching his skin

--and I am no St. Jerome

when we rise

from the sticky darkness

and walk the blue

streets, catching glimpses

of the monster

from our worst dreams

in the window

and the masks stare

empty-eyed and glittering

from the shelves

surely the carnival twirls

as the people stride

clutching bags and bread

surely it twirls among them

in the wake

of our heavy-footed steps

skirl, you

skirl, I am polishing

myself sharp and planed

for my reflection

grinds me like gravel

tears me in every glance

I will be stone

soon, or perhaps

there is nothing to wear

away, but flesh

so be it--when I am bone

I will trawl the gutters

and corners

and feather myself with what I find

spark

my greedy grasping hands

fingers tingle

arms on fire

I tore at the air

--give me more, more!

you emptiness,

you formless

hanging motion--

give me--

I cup them now

low, in front of me

hold, in my hands

a moment

kindled, on bits

of ten thousand

things, passing

this flicker--

I cannot reach

further,

but the sparks fell

ground from the air

when I grabbed

emptily at the stars

mine--my stars!

mine, dying in the dark

my light this,

no cold-light

no walking, breathing

roiling constellations

the clouds hang on the moon

the smoke from distant battles

far above me