sunset

The word returned
like light on the sidewalk
under the thick soles
like the stubbly stucco
the smooth heft of aloe
under my finger tips
like incense blown
across my pores

and the trees rose
steady and licked
the sky gently,
and the sky burnt
down to embers
behind the rustling,
slowly

I walked
and carried the glow
on the back of my hand

Foreigner

Did you think you could touch me--
whose palm are you pressing?
Whose shoulders bent,
whose raw-boned fingers,
whose lined forearms?
Who thought you could hold me--
who do your eyes encircle,
whose broad cheekbones?
Whose heavy walk,
whose mouth twisting,
whose square chin?

I tell you this nose
is only the snubbed barrier between us.
That I laugh
like scrawls on paper,
snorting keystrokes--
that I could meet you
in the hollow under my earlobe
or in the corner of my eye--
that I stride my face in unknown country
and rub my neck with foreign hands.
I was nearly there
when my eyes narrowed--
that I was only ever held
by the circle of my sockets
embraced
in their arching bone.

12:32 (Swork II)

12:32

the blinds silhouette
and the ornaments hanging darkly
the cars slowly under
the tree fountaining, in the divider
the live flame and the sparks falling
against the curb, unconsumed
live ash on the still pavement
going down to dust
into dirt and disobedience
soil unsown
along the hardness,
the shallows gaping,
the patient defiance
of possibility,
warmly extended

irrelevant (I)

I'm sorry... but...

... go here.

neat-o.

hill-poem

the blue-screen sky
indigo lit, and flashing stars
like street-light on shades

the hills are happy ghosts
whirling high into the air
trailing long fingers of fog

rising immense,
deep, in the drifting haze
sparks twirl
across the slopes
laughter,

the dark country
beyond distance
has thrown its head back
joyfully, to the sky

wingbeats

Won't you take me, sparrow
--just a piece
over the tree-crests
to the foot of the clouds
into the shifting ravines
and ridges above the tile

Go!-- too small,
for the air to notice

wingbeats
less than a leaf waving

go.
the woven branches
you untangle
the buildings rise
hang heavy
below

and you softly flicker
above them

Carry this- take it,
with you up
flitting, go lightly
you, and the piece
that you could carry
slip quietly
across the earth
uncaught

plain-sight

a few stars in the window
my face on the glass, in outline

and nobody knows, but--
the quiet streets are trenches
depth immeasurable,
and the sidewalks the
spreading cracks

and nobody knows, and--
we could hide among the driveways
walk unseen under the palm trees

in plain sight, and in the day light
and there is no one watching

who knows what to watch for

and the last sparks have gone,
have flown-- have fallen,
cold on the sand,
so goes confusion,
the sharp prick of anything
below the stars

we could walk tall, straight
and standing, we could walk
unnoticed, unregarded
there is no one looking
who knows what to look for

we could walk,
unweighed by outlines
in the lee of their reflections
who are caught in their own constellations
walk easy in the shadow
that casts up their eyes as shadow