Now that the fuel has gone into the pleasures of history We can grasp hands one last time and sing metaphor With our backs to one another and close our eyes in the rain. When we sing to the wind, some random notes might Make sense as their tails knot and the dust of their […]
I imagine 100 thousand years ago. I lift a car in my palm and watch it ride. The woods fly past like chasing zebras, me immobile (really), seated, glass down. The moon and sun break through the clouds, erecting history in the shadows of stones, papers, and knives. 100 thousand years ago I aim rope […]
Some pause here for the next few days. Carianne camping.
A woman with light in her mind rests her chin on the sill watching the wind fall like doves to rest on the flowers in her beds. She wonders about the language of rats, so he (being nearby) shows her by rushing onto the lawn, drawing a brush out of his pack, and with a […]
At the river’s edge, I fell to my knees, peered deep through the white tigers hunting beneath the surface, and from the bottom I saw a hand rise with food for the hungry, light for the lost– because they grasp for horrors when they ought to write turquoise songs in the wind with the sharp […]
We followed a midday city sidewalk. She paused, grasped a brass newel that reflected highrise windows and the sun across the way. “You must be tired from carrying that box,” I said. She smiled. “It is heavy,” she said. At a stoplight, I asked, “Tell me what’s inside the box.” She said, “When I first […]
I had a friend who found Neruda in an onion. “Wait,” he said, “I’m in the third circle, where the knife sometimes hesitates because of the ambition of fingers.” She flew the kitchen into a cloud of stars on the porch and jumped aboard a moth who could not fly straight (and often flew too […]
So out of the bud in the many greens a dove is released into night. But that’s not all. Every shadow may be a still image repeated, the surface of a child’s motion glad under water, And Blackness two plums colliding in a sound-proof room And a blue seep on a wall, in any country […]
The sun may break through and tap the gray floor of a valley flat and a man will wish momentarily that he had been born at a different time, as a different animal, maybe a bird that can wing from the cliff side at some dawn of germs when storms flustered at the edge of […]
The unblinking condition of the moon should give us pause. Because somewhere in some space an eye will never close, ever lubricated, and a finger will always be moist with paint. As was once said, the moon is buoyant eggshell on the pond at night, an eye that will never stop following you down the […]
A woman with a red bear behind her eyes makes the sun Rise and smile green over a lake with herds of mist that print The path of carnivores across the outlined willow line. Small boats go by as the air clears and the moon pales And the bottom of the water rises like a […]
5. The stone found himself purplestriped by grass shadows. Feline strokes that make one wonder at the shapes roots make underground. Pale letterforms creeping beneath the stone. (fin)
4. A man dug hard, pulled a stone from the earth. He rolled it right, left, up, down, held it to the sun. “I look everywhere and the stone is nowhere.” Another man laughed and reburied the stone. He heard violets open, take their first breath.
3 Between two words the stone found error dripping from a tooth in a cave grief in a fresh mound beneath a drying oak radiance in a hundred pumping hearts playing in the grass between two words
2. One day the moon and a moth collided. The white sky burst with red rain, filling rivers with wing dust, smoke, and the candles we once lit as a soft language to draw our lost children in from the dark.
