October

Aria--

... some time coming, so take yours--hey? Looking forward to it.

---

October

in October, bright and sparking

God must be blowing smoke across the sky

the banks of fog bury the moon

narrows her eyes, gleaming brightly

while the buildings rise, sharp and steady

and hang their windows against the sky

the setting sun painted fire all the way down to the street

and shot the trees and the half-finished structures

with scarlet

so--god bless the empty girders

rising to cage the sky

work-lights held high, gleaming warmly

to light the way home

the dark is not dark

and the crickets buzz

and greet the morning, through the night

when the wind rustles in the leaves

living flame, and sends them skirling

above the benches

and the stars go ambling, slowly

along the sidewalk

we go passing and chattering

we spiral past each other, chattering

we spiral together

one more time

before winter silences the singers

and the constellations shatter on the snow

and we are buried, alone, in whatever shelter

drifting along patches of light

until the melt comes

we will greet each other as familiar strangers

... (xx).

the crickets ring softly, under

the masses of leaves, flutter brightly

while the cars wind through the shadows

crow cracks, but cannot hurry, the morning

mirror

well, all you sharded mirrors
who scatter the sky among you
who catch the moonlight, gleaming
in the corner of the room
and all the stars are fixed, if burning
and the moon, full and wide, and glowing
are either dead or burning
don't know the small, dark glory
of being undone

The Skinner's Psalm

Let my words rise
like the smoke from the stub in my hand
I have walked through thick grass
soaked up to the knees
with a load of dead things
across my shoulders
and the hum of the crickets
mocked their empty plushness
and the light glistening on the water
mocked the sun's gleam on fur
and the dried skins seemed brittle
against the damp beneath my feet
now, for once, I set down my burden
to peer up into the clear darkness
the clouds are far grander
ranging across the sky
still, I think there's some value
in the quickness of smoke
as it rises over the steps
and twirls off into the night

... .

and god bless your out-flung wings
I swear you threw the sky into my face
while you were passing
I swear I could not evade the question
as my eyes followed in your wake

dry

my soul aches, this morning
like skin tightening around a cut
the cicadas buzz in the trees
and the air hangs, dry and light
the light falls, like dust, between the shadows
whenever I reach into myself
I feel leaves and twigs crackling under the bushes

I walk, parched and dusty
and no water slakes my thirst
but leaves me chapped and itching
I rest on my frame
like leather, scraped and cured
like paper, dried and contorted
hung like a mask on the wall

eh.

born and born and born
again, and how many lives
will you live?
the world the world and the world
dies every night and in
every season.
and hopping from
grave to grave
how can you hope to go
beyond springing?
it may be that
you live in the leap
it may be that
you are learning flight, unanticipated
by the lazy maws, yawning below you
that even the leaves
may not notice you
crashing through them
that one day, you may shock them
altogether, by missing the ground