A Porch Light Lyric

We wait for the porch light to go off
in the breaks between songs
a cat crosses by
it's something
nothing's nothing.
We wait for the porch light
in the break between the songs
the sirens are still there
the airplane flights
still something
you know nothing.
We wait
in the breaks between songs
the wine goes very very slowly
the snow melts into our gloves
it's something.

Dec 14, 2010

Witness Log

The floes rush around
the log
scraped clean in the current
dark and soaked, thin and thinning ever
it holds its alignment
letting spring ignore
its sunken branches, now roots
witness, maybe the only one,
to the whimpers of winter
as she is pushed under
the good witch's return
all benevolence but no honesty
all good hope but forgetful
of what is still left to mourn.

Dec. 15, 2010

No Writing Days

How many letters
prick you as you
lick their mint?
How long is the list
of siphoned words
left trailing you
as you avoid your window?
Did the fire tree
listen in my stead?
Did the burning bush
answer only I AM?
Did it leave you
wondering,
needing "where?"

Dec, 15, 2010

Lessons in Gravity

If the bed was off the floor -
as it hasn't been since we crowded in
bruising on the slopes of skin
and climbing hand over
hand out again
only sometimes never -
there I've been.

Now then, a trunk
rusty comes
full of baubles and myrrh
through the seams
an old name comes back to me
neglected darkened hung
with spider sacs.

I'll wax your riven edges
and fill your hollow
test the swing of your lock
my old name trunk
rest against you
rest you in
the thinner gravity of this new room.

Nov 3, 2010

Walking Into the Almost

Do you remember the first sound
of our boots on pavement
the sound like wanting and having
our dreams, all at once?
We awed
we drew in
listened to their sure ring.

Nov 28, 2010

Before the Mountain

There was never a mountain
here before.
This plain, These people
came to see the horizon knife
to see the flatware of grass and water
in still life, They
came here to see
to walk as far as they could see
And from here there
was everything to see,
before the mountain.

Dec 3, 2010

The Ways and Means

First, you must learn
to breathe this medium
both empty and heavy
you imagine endangered glaciers.
After you have learned how to do that
the next thing is how to move,
blood and skin have their new relationship,
to be sure, your bones are still in place as before
they take up the slack in your hands
touching things, imbibing the world
that flies into your body.
Speaking of, you may have noticed,
or you may not have,
if you're not sure, check your pockets
you imagine crab apples
but more like squirrels, so this is natural,
You must learn to kiss your own fingers
before you ask much of them
of course they're still good for
vicing someone else's
you imagine you can still feel another.
The last thing you must learn is
love even when you only imagine everything.

Dec 3, 2010

Convocation

It was hard to imagine a sun above those clouds
it was hard to want it
their covetous shoulders
bearing down on the lake
It was hard to keep from those colours
it was hard to keep from prying their secret names
It might have been motionless
but for persistent shred of white foam
disappearing just as it appeared,
might have been sinews stretching
then coiling, readying for the fray
sending off static as a warning
or invitation rite.

Dec 4, 2010

Thank You for a Good Night: A Poem in Three Lines

Lined boots
Lined hat
Lined heart.

Dec 14, 2010

What Waits

Sometimes I wait to come home
giving you time to work
magic, to find a way
to give me my world
a perfect sea glass you've
spent time finding
A way to let me out of you.

Nov 30, 2010

The Last Rain For a While

Sometimes you have to
light a flame against the rain
to regain the senses
to remember you had them
punctured through with atmosphere
you remember the mystery of stars
and glassy limbs
how they connect over the
distance so far it has turned into years.
You had become enamoured
of planes overhead and
a little taken by metallic reflections
it takes a minute to remember
the park so nearby with its clover
you don't mind finding that your city boots
don't hold out its soak
but walking through it you remember
there's a pulse below and slower
than as fast as your shins can stand
you had forgotten the eternity of your dog
in putting out all the small fires
but with her here there's no urgency of immortality
for a minute your city ears
will strain in the silence
until slowly you can hear her breath again.
If you can, you must,
light that flame sometimes.

nov 28

Spider Veins

Sky, you hurtful friend,
do you mind your spider veins?
The bruises you put about my mouth
match them perfectly
all faded navy
and darkening.

nov 28, 2010

Paper

Tan little girls on summer shores
and in summer fields
named her paper
And now her paper fingers slide
down her own paper calves
noticing they've since
hardened inward until their colour
suggests marble, suggests the layers of weight
that add up to this particular translucence.
She keeps them away
from summer girls
for shame or for sanctuary
she's not sure.
Now only her hands notice
how startling a sculpture they've become.

nov 28, 2010

4 p.m. in the Bookstore

The books and bricks of once-treasures
seal the window view
glowing themselves like a coming fire
trying to look inviting, desperate little consolations.
I hear a dog's dreaming breath
I hear the fine tearing that could only mean wet pavement
I hear a huff and sigh - a city still trying to please
I hear the hairline clicks of shifting joints newly aged
Until even the four p.m. gloom
is blinding.

Nov 28, 2010

A Long-Dead Tree

Why is it that the beautiful one
was the long-dead tree
overseeing the grasses?
Was it because we trespassed there
feeling only that even the moon was ours
and so the path towards it also belonged
to us?
Was it because we longed for height
for much too long, only parting through fields?
And there it remained as if it always would
as if being black and cored
were as natural as eternity
as if standing, after all this time,
was not something to be longed for but to take for granted.
We stopped our ragged breathing
to watch it and the moon
to see which one was tangled in the other
then kept at marching high and deep
our new desire the shape of a long-dead tree.

nov 28, 2010