spring

who can mourn in the face of such beauty?

the snow has wept itself down into green

and your feet, also weeping

have drawn lines across the softness

and the world has drunk down all waters together

and has quenched itself on all waters together

and watches you now, emerald eyes gleaming

... (xiv).

grieve not for the despair
nor fear slashing yourself on the ice in winter
nor that the blood still wells in springtime

for the world is also bleeding in cardinals
--brother, I wish she had loved you better.

... (xviii).

... really *not* quality--it's been a long week.

---

waste the day

--grind it to ash

smear it across the tile

skid across the seconds

knees bent, and crouching

and whip your head

towards the past

--as it comes bounding

after

be faster than

memory

more cunning

--you must fool yourself

all the spectres

come streaming

howling your name

your own old flesh

flapping behind them

city

this place throws off beauty with a toss of its hand

through all the soft, sweet nights--I am compelled to stand

the trees slice, languid, into the sky

in the leaves, a welter of birds state their names, loudly

and so, I must grip my own name tight to me

and not look where the roads lead across the ruffled land

when the year closes in on itself again

and the wind announces itself, burring

and grinds its teeth on the skin

when the moon turns sharp

and the stars go reeling

I will walk along the edge of winter,

all the way out to the hills

I will hold my skull hard

and walk smooth and steady

--and beyond them

beating my name on my bones

when I come to where

the ferns wave sharply on the ridges

and the rain can't bear to bide

and the lights fill the slopes

with warmer stars

on the edge of the valley

with night prickling on my neck

the reeds rustling in the wind

I will lay down my name

in the grit

I will put down my face

I will cut my tendons free

of the bonds that bound them so tightly

with all the city heedless below me

I will kneel down and be glad

... (xvii)

I must be weeping on my skin
--rolling my eyes in my pocket
I threw them in as I was leaving
--it pays to be prepared.

So I should toss them between the branches
and set them on the table
so I should be careful when doing the laundry
and not run them through the dryer

--I wipe them down
when I remember to clean them
and it's been two weeks, nearly
since I've left them by the napkins.

--but it's hard to hold onto
something so useless.

on two.

--thinking

how I might have lit myself on each

one, an unspoken understanding

the clasped eyes held firm

and a rueful twitch of the lip

for all the confusion in between

and the echo

--the shadow reaching out

for once, not back--

for the sake of holding oneself steady

to allow another's voice

wandering the surfaces--to return itself

--a tight grasp between them.

--and something stronger than tenderness

would be self-control.

and the fire would consume itself

into a glow--ever-brighter

until you lit the sidewalks

and made the world to sky.

and in the other--you'd wander lost

naked, despite your clothes

you'd come stripped bare

and come to yourself out of self-preservation

in the face of the wind whispering--alien

in the needles, and whatever is scuttling

in the brush--

--the chill of the lengthening shadow

--and what would be returned to you

would throw you against the sky.

and teach you anew

the names of your bones

dawn

--let it be: this way

that this morning was familiar

and the bite in the air

familiar

and my lungs full

of the ache, of the deep wound

from when my ribs opened

like a hand, reaching

the sweet bite

the shadows cast

by the ruins within you

now, stretching long

to your nails

if the shade is the only thing

growing

soon--there will be dark enough

to lay in, the night's rest

and the bright morning moon

soon to be ever-awakening

and the trees on fire

with the sunrise

and the first glow

of daylight on the feathers

soon--you will be ever-rising

and the day

will course past

unacknowledged

and you will sunder yourself

from the sun