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Sunday, April 13, 2014

medusa

This Medusa tree,
its viper's nest of limbs,
their tender green tongues
slipping free, freezes me.

Friday, April 11, 2014

space

Not only time's
relative. There's space,
and the zigzag paths
over dried needles.
I've found great distance
in a single step;
the plod that connects
me to young flowers.
Lightness'll come crossing
mouthy oceans; tongues
to teach me close. Mine's
an old, restless soul.

Tuesday, April 01, 2014

get

What's the get in letting
go, again? It's one when,
a daffodil moment.
That then, a yellow's warm's
warmest, before it goes,
spent. You hold it, the warmth
warmer yet for getting,
and let the yellow go
to where so many went.

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

unseasonable

Spring's put on a dampening chill
to tamp down hope before it spills
too soon. The sparrows still feel it,
as they wash in slants of splintering

rays. The gulls play to another,
duller air. They reel through steel gray
patches, and complain to a catch
of wind in their most unappealing

voices. I won't listen, or I'll miss them,
the season's softest lines. They bud
and bloom and rhyme with a spray of wishes
that crocus up to my mind betraying

the hand behind poems greater than mine

Sunday, March 16, 2014

plastic

Two-hundred twenty twisted balloons bloomed
overnight around a horse-footed rider,
their stick-stems in imperfect headstone rows.
The anger I hold was always in danger,
inflated color losing to cooler airs.

Tuesday, March 04, 2014

winter wet

I smelled summer on an asphalt's winter
wet. The cardinal, hopping yet, knew it,
and lent me a tune made for faulty lyrics.
So I sang the earth, deep in its brown sleep,
a dream to green the glinting hints of her.

Saturday, March 01, 2014

a day in the dream life

the dreams I dream can be not so dreamy
but life-y, filled with so much of my life's
dull parts, like the part I put in my hair
using a large comb. And I know not to grow
attached to life, and its dreams, what with the me
I dream and live not being me, except the parts
where holes holed into me, small oval windows
to the unreal of my dreamy reels, but I am.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

given

There's a fragile smile to the miles-arc
its hooded eye plows in low, snowy clouds,
if you can slow the way you hold it in, golden
in a charcoal morning's up-side, til your down-
ward looking looks, less took than given

Monday, February 10, 2014

pill

This brittlest day tries dissolving
its pill sun into the painless gray.
A stubborn pill, it fizzes but stays.
I have learned. Holes cast faint shadows
and I've foolishly chased them across
the black, black mud to the shallows
of the bay. They wade but aren't staying.

Thursday, February 06, 2014

bubble

I was out for an instant within a thin, loving bubble
that'd bubbled up from thick, tuneless music. As it rollicked
on chilled currents, I rolled back my rolled-back eyes
to drink the frothy white, and I saw. The tipped light
shades, their linen screens tipping more still, saluted
me, and the bubble passing by. Not meaning to
is still a sort of meaning, and out of sorts their tilting
served to illumine something, despite themselves. The night
spot-brightened by their gaze taught me nothing, but
I learned a bubble could grow and love to be within me

Tuesday, February 04, 2014

starfish

The cruelty's too perfect,
a starfish, its rays torn from it
until it leaks its life back
to the sea. I can't name it.
I can only trust its need.

Sunday, February 02, 2014

patience

how patient, she asked once. how patient
could I be? more patient, I should
have said. more patient than the water,
deep all around, was. it was patient,
to catch what the stars wept down. and
as patient, I'll say. if she asks.
as patient, when she asks again,
as when, after a time we can't measure,
those same weeping stars welcomed me.

Saturday, February 01, 2014

high white skies

From the perspective of high white skies, I have
no perspective, and the prospects are light
and limitless. I've tried, tried to tell the thinning air
I'm not really there. I'm not really me, or the me
it thinks it keeps from falling. I'm the air that fell
and brightened. It fell and what befell it was a face,
but only for an instant, until, until we switch places.

Sunday, January 26, 2014

colors

The cardinals follow not to follow
but to call. Oh, they call after me
and they recall me to someone
with their song. When I'm done,
done chasing the whites that swirl
on top of black ice, where will I go?
The cardinals, they know it and they follow.
They know I'm their red, and the white
skittering snow, more than I am a who
or what watches it and listens
to them in this blue alone.

Monday, January 20, 2014

the eye of winter

I've spoken ten futures
into the eye of a winter's white-
blinded was. I'll speak one more.
I'll tell it, not blinking, what it will see
isn't what was, isn't what was lost,
but it is what we've learned. From it,
I'll take the chill. I've taken its biting
wind, to speak. And so, to speak
to it, I speak a name first. It assures
me. The eye of winter reassures me
there's a web hidden in its cataract
white, whiter still. Hidden in those
sticky crystals is a future too.
If you'll speak it to me.

Wednesday, January 08, 2014

dead of winter

The dead of winter, very alive, glide on. White hides
in the inside of the treads they don't leave. The sparrows've
fattened up, but I see no sign of food or love in the flattened
Styrofoam cup the sidewalk's smile has become.

Wednesday, January 01, 2014

the first poem

the first poem of the year isn't, it can't be a tree
or lovely. It is love's, and my love uses
its roots to see: all water's a soul drawn free;
the earth's our heart but muted; and the truth is
my god isn't a god who'd not come unbeckoned.
she comes in the swarms of becoming seconds.

Tuesday, December 31, 2013

the last poem

The last poem of the year isn't a poem. A prayer,
it speaks its wish to the crisping air: There's
a knowing song, long-known, but hidden
in the sway of dry, yellow stalks. It was given
to sing-in the seasons. Hear it lessen and grow
louder with the starling-clouds, their bulging black snow
against putty-gray skies. They'll stretch thin again,
and the song. Can the song sing us an ever when
any what, not what we think, but who, mothering
itself from one to many, joins with us, and sings?

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

seconds chance

Knock-around seconds chance me
second chances, and third,
to learn. I've heard it, the whir
of mingling purple minutes, blurred
singly and together. Encircling me
they move me. They herd me
into smaller circles,
or spirals, the circles
lessening. The lesson is
the lessening, and the beauty
of chances missed. Of me, and learning.

Saturday, December 21, 2013

curiouser

The curious clues come to you. On pale blue and white,
the cloud ring's unfinished. I can't wish it, what contrite
letter it might
                     spell. I miss a yellow smudge of light.
It lived where indigos went, until it fell from night,
one hard bringer of the soft-hearted news.
                                                                A squatter
spider, yes she was squatting. The moon's youngest daughter,
she couldn't hide from her, her appetites, her eagerness
for flight. She wished what I couldn't, and left no meager threads.

Thursday, December 12, 2013

strings

There are strings. Nine strings? No, nine of some-wheres,
plus one black when. Back then, they weren't strummed, but they're
vibrating to, or from something. Something flat. Real is flat. Real and
flatter than. The fattest lie is the fastest why I can come up with. I can
tell you: I've lived this sigh before. Not a sigh, so much. As a breath
between, death's hidden in the greens, and life. Life's again. Then's death.