Jul 30

You were walking backwards into the strength

Of somebody else’s poem, all while you were not looking.

The trees were the color of the houses, the houses

The color of the planets. Somebody was listening but you

Did not know who. The withdraw of first things meant the

Inrush of…



Jul 27

How, I, in taking you apart diminished myself was beyond me.

And yet tamed and merciful I sit here listening. Situation

After situation unfolds without choice. The drugged forests

Have been cut down, the trees dismembered, and we peopled

The raw fields with our own image.



Jan 11

Now there is never something that

You can never quite articulate that speaks

Up and down the ladder of vowels and vows

And moves you to assimilate yourself into

The scheme of personal survival. Dreams have

A spongey, almost benign quality. The New

Testament grammars are just as dark as…



Jan 6

Half of what I said was metaphor.

Quietness, the gift.

The heart asleep.

I drew a circle here: eyeless and strange.

I strapped you in. The moths

Around the house have been hovering —

And we were fearless enough to stay.

God wills us forward, but we are not moving.



Jan 5

Winter without winter. A Baroque feeling

Of things, permeating the half-lost field of

Vision and observation. In this, there is

Death and life, but you have to choose. Your vigilance

Is warranted, but your reticence is not. Now —