spring lady

I said, once,

what I would be

I wore so many different skins

the crackle of brush

and stood

at the summit, claimed

the wind as my breath

I said I was coyote

and conqueror and shadow

skulking, now rising up the palms

I said I was lover, and poet

and claimed the world as my subject

and caressed it with the lips of my hands

I said I was free

and skirted the lawns, blameless

and hungry, and turned the cans over

I forgot the teeth under my skin

so busy rubbing my fingers

to smooth the air

and draw its trouble and pull

its mouth into smiles

mine too--mine too!

said I was master of my own sharp

bones, and drove them into arcs

said I was dancer

the skin tears

the muscles' tangles

I have strength enough,

only, to raise my head

to the spring in winter

cold lady, hovering on

the pavement

to receive her brightness

on my flapping skin

can only say-- I am

here

kali (iii)

you must be strong

cannot be soft

--to dance with Kali

for she is lush destruction

she is all curving

foothills, sharp and rolling

the thick smell of rot

hanging under

the trailing vines,

rising from

the dark

at the bottom of the cupboard

and within you too

she is fire

rolling thickly

on soft feet

and crackling richly

and the lightning

cracks,

over the velvet

emptiness of her eyes

cannot be wood

--she gnaws it

to pulp and splinters

nor earth

which she treads heavily

and water she devours

you must be steel

for she consumes the living

sharp in your head

and bright in your bones

flashing quickly

and she might roll

along your edges

and roll the fullness

of her lips,

and flash her teeth

bone-white and strong

gobi

what seemed so close

is immeasurably far

the empty air swallows distance

nah, nah--don't grind your skin

on the gravel

don't unstring your legs

running in the dunes

nah--put one hand in your pocket

and hold the harness, steady

feet to the ruts,

zou, zou, zou--zou ba.

memory (ii)

in the hazy, chill of the rain

I was ascending my memories

switch-backing up he slope

until I heard your voice,

behind the crest

and saw the shadow of your hand

and spun on my heel

to the side

I am not ready

for the harsh glow and sweet

shadows of your face

for the bitter sweetness

of such joy

---

under the foam of the moment

something thick and clear

heavy on the tongue

drenches the arm in strength

and warms the soul slowly

on the soft glow of memory

under quicksilver stars, flashing

in the living dark of the sky

you lean back

and rest against the past

a forethought...

and you will never mourn--
think in this way
that his death was his own
as his life was his own
and for himself
considered as a whole, as a book
from cover to cover
then you may celebrate that life
and your own,
long into the night

... (xii). (possibly, I lose track).

like water welling

up through the rocks

I rise

and spread

outwards

which sometimes

might reflect the sky

--does it matter?

a glistening shadow

what is, is

above you

or wavering on my skin

wind (ii)

and in only in the cracking bark
the air bricked high
the twitching, tightening
shuddering around your blood
in this way: the wind floods
and eddies in the avenues
within you
in this way: you are flung
through yourself
coat billowing
back from your shoulders

so is it your heart then
or the thudding
snarl
of flesh tangled
in the clawless
claws of
all of heaven
swooping
on the drifting
hills, the fading
drifts,
and the tattered grass