one or two places

people here
are not old
they wear
tense clothes and
sprint uphill
with dog/baby

the clothes
the clothing is
black or
grey thin thin
the people
the clothing here

our house
is held by
color skinny
but not unattractive
not in
winter this light

congeals and
startles its legendary
self-containment
as a reasonable
responsible pose
in proper scale


no one thing

Having looked not enough at what the sad world presents

and tempted to turn to this less useful book of words,

he says Sand and River and names the kinds of them all

voices voices he calls them Voices calling numbers in

his sleep. A sliver of rippling sirens strewn with dog.

The heartache of an empire misunderstood over against

a risible scrim of noodles and hats, swastika languors,

paper burnt after kind poems departed. Some to the sun.


no conquest but

an orderly exit from the place

takes standing to a wicked extreme

anyone coming from out the hard choices

deserves a red gallop a flame


just up the hill now ready to make

a flower inhale any one of us enough

to refute an utter uselessness

the time it took to crush a broken reed


verbs and affections

Closing the far-off, these exotic place names,

it had been a language of courses, understood

as finished, run to the last breath, then set

just so in the gravel lane where they kissed.

Set as blotches or a series of possibilities,

gravity smacks us to behave and imagine art

arrives any time always already pregnant with

what we guessed would simulate exhilaration.


notes around it

always already

-

appraising the precious: it hasn’t been earned

it: abundant fluidity profound and common singularity

you write this and say it you say this and write it:

try writing to order: try fitting it in edgewise

-

voices from the other room could only mean

the television has turned itself on again

-

in her blue hoody she’s guiding the mower

over the lawn. it is a hill and she struggles

all the way up then relaxes on the way down

-

good old fur shawl stiff

on a red satin hanger

humming in the breeze

-

they “have a language” immediate or at least on time

if you could stand up and read with skill the minutes

we have not been given the influence of our sayings

I put them on notice: to be interesting in good time


half had vanished

a counting couldn’t claim everything we needed

any more than looking could or any more than a

guess there’ll always be some horizon hung like

shabby cloth over an uncertain edge walking

it at risk is all you can do is all you need to


honestly

a piece of rock to hold in mind. part. of the larger

here. limestone possibly. shale with it. maybe three

hundred million years of lying about. as and. in the

whole. as if patient. to be held in human terms. this

steady strata confided. to eyes. deposited indirectly

steep in streams. of the blind flow. or stilted one.


this / no that


After cat tried

hummingbirds

we sat with short grass

and wind.

————————

that thing right next to stillness

one is expected to post somewhere

to confirm one’s social haecceity

that thing right next to stillness


artificial by comparison

So, Mr. Groovy. Denser, my photons are enough today. So,

tell me, Madame Minima (whose heart is jiggling in a

red bright can of Tomato Points) which epoch shall we

pick? The Agon of Chrysalis? The Pretenceous Devoidic?

I’ll meet you there. All done up in these Hesitation Blues.


any day singing

If in our sleep say an arch. Built of perfect religion.

Then the shadow and the copper cup. Trestles over it.

I put my mind away again. Watch the beautiful river.

Last night the geese crooned. The crickets a chorus.

We believe in God. The word. And the subtle shove to.

Enjoy the limp of light. It’s a wrecked and splendid.

Day. In fact I’ll hymn it for you under here tonight.


and yet

under this

lake here’s

a thin

stream spring-fed

where the

first people

still come

where

fish life

bird life

green life

will drink


the giant

man puts

his finger

to it

and catches

fire

he burns

all day