xxxxxxiv.

the whisper, below
the blade,

in the speakers, the
flash, falls

the dead live, now
the earth, rucked

open, to walk
among them the living

xxxxxxi.

at night, and in the odd corners
of the day--

I dream a city, falling into the sun,
the lights, rising,

to touch the stars, and a long
boulevard, and quiet corner,

and the lights lit, under the eaves,
yes, I dream the eucalyptus

bowing, to touch the ground, and
the water rising, from

the dead leaves, and I lay down,
on the broken fabric,

and I do not wake, but the dawn
falls over my face,

and my eyes open, and I do not
wake, because sleep

has come, and stays, and walks
with me--and who knows

what the day will bring
and I do not wake,

the mulch crumbles
under my feet, and the pepperfruit

crushed between my fingers, astringent
the dove murmurs

in consternation--but I will not wake,
and the houses slope,

and fall into the street, and the street
curves, cuts the hills, in two--

and I do not wake, but I climb,
and the manzanita clings to my boots,

and brushes the dusty ground

xxxxxx.

it compels you to love
it,

it will never love you,

but, somewhere in the lineaments
that draw the moving,

teeming, of its muscles tense
you will find

that you love it, anyway

in its wayward motion,
in truth, in memory

it will never love you,
but will give

always a reason to love
it, again--

...xxxxxix.

and the rain fell on the just
and unjust like

the feet fall on the roof
shuffling, whispering--

and below, the cords twine
over the floorboards,

the lights hang on the hills
like a beacon, you know

sometimes they shower
sparks on the street,

they don't die, but
they fade,

along the gutters, in the
lee of the grove,

the branches whispered the
constellations, falling

and the street, glowing
hazed and hot,

and the shape of the wind
under the branches

loosed from the trunks and
branches, needles

falls into the street, whips
over the asphalt,

toward the hills, seems
to say, "hold"

"hold, for you
will live,

for you will live
again," and

goes, the shadow--

fell and spread across
the pavement,

and covered, but I watch
my shadow fall,

down the wall, and I say,
"you will live,

and you will live, you
will live again,"

epitaph

in stone, the water would
run, through
the tip and fall,

the rain would carve
your name

into the world, and
seep,

to the ground. in
words,

caught, I will not
stay you,

though, you fade,
live briefly,

as you go, to raise
the grass.

stage

When--the sawdust falls
through the sun, and the
radio plays--this song,
in particular--

and the wood hangs against
the wall, the office in the loft,
is dark, and slats

of metal over the loading dock,
are raised, the screws sink,
into the pine, imprecisely--

the stage is still, but won't be
in a few days, and the dirt
clings to my hands which are
sinew--

--with lifting, the strange slats
stacked on the platform over
the scroll-saw, and the welder,
and steels lies, traced in paint,
and dust, on the concrete--

--the leftover scenery, cut and
shortened, repainted--
will make a new world, for
an evening--beyond the loading

dock, the lilac are blooming,
but in here, I will cut a beak,
into plywood,

tomorrow it will break your
heart, today
the curtain rustles, slowly,
in the heat

xxxxxviii.

--tonight, the wind blows
and it rests in the hollows, and it sneaks
behind the buildings--and,
tonight--

tears all that was--
before, and all that would have
been--across my bones,
their hollows whistle--tonight,

I loose my hold, and I let it
carry--there are worse things
than not to have been--carry,
all the things I have held
tightly--

take them from me, where--
I don't mind, take them to
nowhere in particular, or

lose them in the gutters,
and the planters and beneath
the tracks--

and they go,
and they flee, and they
scatter--

and they go, I am
glad