the cracked earth,
yellow weeds--waving
dry,
cut the sky, cast it
in the dust,
remember, when it
would race,
rush, cold--carry
peak to valley
leave remnants of
its reification,
pooled in their roots
the pasture dreams,
beneath the banks
the river darts
between the rocks
seeps upwards
rises,
is taken, unfinished
upwards,
promises to come again
Saturday, July 18, 2015
Thursday, July 16, 2015
aquifer
for the time,
all things might wait,
for we gather, in the lip
of fallen mountain, a
valley, broken by dirt--
wait, gathered
below,
(love--that last,
that least--)
absorb, unwilling, what
lies beneath us,
let someone's folly,
raise us,
free
of any legacy, forget
below--forget
to carry--
the cost of chance, the
cost of rest, of peace,
if we rise.
all things might wait,
for we gather, in the lip
of fallen mountain, a
valley, broken by dirt--
wait, gathered
below,
(love--that last,
that least--)
absorb, unwilling, what
lies beneath us,
let someone's folly,
raise us,
free
of any legacy, forget
below--forget
to carry--
the cost of chance, the
cost of rest, of peace,
if we rise.
flood
the sedimentation holds back the river,
the culvert, this,
holds the last remnants of the flood,
it might eat the banks,
it might crest over the banks,
it might eat the dirt, and cast it
where least useful,
carries everything to where it
is not supposed to be, might
deposit it into
the place, where all things gather,
they might consume--
what was there, might suffocate
what was there, might
might grow, might fall--might
wait, might rise
above the banks
the dry place, is screaming, streaming
falling, from the rim,
is falling, is failing-is streaking from
the rim, may the gates, hold
may the gates fall, may the flow
remember, it’s shape
beneath the ground.
the culvert, this,
holds the last remnants of the flood,
it might eat the banks,
it might crest over the banks,
it might eat the dirt, and cast it
where least useful,
carries everything to where it
is not supposed to be, might
deposit it into
the place, where all things gather,
they might consume--
what was there, might suffocate
what was there, might
might grow, might fall--might
wait, might rise
above the banks
the dry place, is screaming, streaming
falling, from the rim,
is falling, is failing-is streaking from
the rim, may the gates, hold
may the gates fall, may the flow
remember, it’s shape
beneath the ground.
Friday, July 10, 2015
xxxxxxvi.
once upon this street--
I cannot speak--
the unutterable,
the unspeakable
faith--
I cannot say,
a thousand countries and
not one nearer
than the failing thread, I would
bleed to remember,
a hundred moments, not one
nearer than
the shadow on the ceiling,
flailing upon the
the lesser shadow, the
greater dark, the sky
speckled with stars, the
silence,
I draw a thousand borders,
streaming, the silhouette
streaming, a thousand countries
before dawn
I cannot speak--
the unutterable,
the unspeakable
faith--
I cannot say,
a thousand countries and
not one nearer
than the failing thread, I would
bleed to remember,
a hundred moments, not one
nearer than
the shadow on the ceiling,
flailing upon the
the lesser shadow, the
greater dark, the sky
speckled with stars, the
silence,
I draw a thousand borders,
streaming, the silhouette
streaming, a thousand countries
before dawn
ragged (i)
the edges trailing
ragged glory,
the slant bridge,
the sun
falls, into the murky
water,
and the lions,
hanging on the walls,
with the lamb,
in the window, the gleam
to the street, and in
the morning,
in the blue--the man
rolls his suitcase, along
the cobbles
ragged glory,
the slant bridge,
the sun
falls, into the murky
water,
and the lions,
hanging on the walls,
with the lamb,
in the window, the gleam
to the street, and in
the morning,
in the blue--the man
rolls his suitcase, along
the cobbles
xxxxxxv.
if you and a better heaven,
or a more interesting hell--
--then we should walk, in
the scree, along the tracks,
over them,
the grayed in grass, and the
paths silent, past
the benches, and the turnout
overlooks the freeway
down among
the streets,
when the moon is slivered,
a chunk of light,
and the houses are silent,
the streets fall
and twist, if you--and I
fall with them,
or a more interesting hell--
--then we should walk, in
the scree, along the tracks,
over them,
the grayed in grass, and the
paths silent, past
the benches, and the turnout
overlooks the freeway
down among
the streets,
when the moon is slivered,
a chunk of light,
and the houses are silent,
the streets fall
and twist, if you--and I
fall with them,
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