mulberry

on my way
a black mulberry branch
some too early blossom
pared from late winter

i thumbed its knots for a rosary
until my hands smelled wrist to nail
of that specific chemical consequence

the old turned live again
in hands tender with first calluses

deeper snow

she takes her grey bow of a body
in search of deeper snow
sneezing at the scent
she does not need sight
or much sense
to trail the blank depths
to understand the importance of snow.

get well

again i dreamt
i was in your hospital
eventually you had to come -
i was a patient after all
you fell ill upon entering
laid in a bed next to mine
i kissed your eyes and nose and ears
and between told you
i tried i swore
but forgive me
i could not get well

from one invertebrate to another

cicada shake down
sucked from armor
mouthless slept and dreamt

multitudes and states
up scales down hatches
a core with instincts
prey and die
pleasure the perishing

making sugar from velveteen
music from whoring
making want and wishing
to dredge the wanting.

lasso

kingdom of god
where vultures black
circle tighter, answer
knotted light.

comb marrow
survey the kingdom for
strangers ready for
answers.

we wanderers live
lob interruptions
through lowering shadows.

the mad month

February, you come on
in prayers and licks
removing the hinges on locked knees
the spirit falls toward you
but the body pulls back
you grind the sky out
shake your cuffs of the ash.

February, you come on
in sojourns and suns
smacking flat imagined worlds
complete without space and time to cross
smacking mouths dry
you rattle the compass
roll cardinals in your palm like dice.

February, you come on
in sutures and teeth
bind up wounds that need to breathe
and biting out seams
come to count as bones
you measure pulse for temperature
and not for speed.

collateral

i prayed the sky would break apart
you confessed, you prayed the world
hordes of wasps beat inside
only snow can campaign in such numbers
they gather, pressing toward our voices
inward and out
buzzing threat
gusts of nightlong marvel
we prayed gently, but with power: battle

and this morning, i'm not sure what's left
it will take some weeks to know
we sat so still
rigid conductors of defeat and hope
any collateral
will shake loose from us slow
so we prepare to move

finally, you go - seeming whole enough
so i go - whole enough as well
only, here in the path,
a perfect graphite bird
pressed in snow
her open eye reflecting sky white.