Monday, March 31, 2014

How different this dawn


Surely you must see
how different this dawn,

stating its case
in soft-bright colors,

is from your righteous
outrage;

how she laves
her face in this pond,

then comes to light
on your own cage.



Friday, March 28, 2014

Thursday, March 27, 2014

As any thing that is


Another night in the old hometown.

The streets we used to roam.

The lights are out.

There are stars in your hair.

You comb them to the ground.

I want to name them all.

I have no tongue.

I have no hands.

I have only to begin.

The stars are in my mouth.

They are as any one or any where or any thing that is.



Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Canvas 377



Canvas 377

March 26, 2014




Night


Nut trees where peach trees
once had been, in rows
a quarter-mile
long;

a vineyard after harvest,
near a roadside where
the boy once
walked;

night, still dreaming in his bed,
shaken from his pocket
by the hand
of God.



Sunday, March 23, 2014

Forgiven


The oldest buildings,
castles, towers,

pillars,
roads,

crumbled walls,

and a sky,
just wise and kind

enough to be their mother.



Saturday, March 22, 2014

For the newborn


You know, love,
this life makes ghosts
of us all.

And you know,
there is an art
to passing

through,
love,

and that art
is called

a child.

What stirs us
now, love,

is this ghost
so new,

so dear,
so small,

that
we know,
love,

is all we need
to know.



Friday, March 21, 2014

Companion


The hush of a dream

you don’t remember,

the companion it comes to be,

and how you wonder

if you ever slept

at all.



How the east brings

light to clouds.



How they’re all mixed up somehow,

and how they find you

on the road.



How you know what you know

is how you know the companion,

and where shes goes shows

how uncommon

a common

thing

it is.




Thursday, March 20, 2014

Spring


Crumbs in pocket
days beyond the muffin
that left them there

as clothes of boy
grow the man
they come to wear



Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Better blind, than blind


Ask me why I so willingly
read myself blind, and I might say,

Better blind, than blind;

For never was my darkness
so very, very light.

Ask me if I’m not lonely in the absence
of color, and I might say,

I know what the colors know;

For never was my gladness
so very, very full.

Ask me if my dreams sullenly dim
and fade, and I might say,

As inevitably as yours;

For never was this life
so very, very sure.

Ask me why I blithely carry on,
and I might say,

I am the carried one;

By cloud, to grave,
I am the carried one.



Monday, March 17, 2014

Canvas 372



Canvas 372

March 17, 2014




Green


On this island, even gray is green.

Clouds, thus abandoned,

falls, streams,

wheel, veil, iron,

rust.

Now, you come a long way,
your lean mast solemn

as a crucifix.

Girls meet you at the shore,
their great green woods burning.

And what do you bring?

More,

as green as the green graves
they wore long before the advent
of your blue, blue world.



Sunday, March 16, 2014

Silence best describes the circle


Attention, you know, is love,
and silence best describes the circle

of these cherry blossoms,
and the old man watching
with his idle broom;

we need beg nothing new;

how we live what we imagine,
and treasure the days,

and see the old man through
becomes our age,

defines the love
we hold true;

and what would you resolve,
there in your room,

when one great circle
holds us all,

blossoms, drifting, too?



Saturday, March 15, 2014

Between the lines


The value of the story is this:
that you come upon your better self
and catch him unaware; catch her
dreaming in her gentle way,
find him being what she
came to say,
the very
day

you go away together;

and, in going,
stay.



Friday, March 14, 2014

Canvas 371



Canvas 371

March 14, 2014




Everything is one thing


Everything is one thing,
says the surface to the pond

of the bird below and the fish above
the boy with rock in hand;

One thing inseparable,
as love from the other that over

and under ever in wonder
begins as it ends.



Thursday, March 13, 2014

Sure as streetlight


Sure as streetlight is the moon,
veil of fog assumes its own dementia;

tale by window told as soon,
of pale error the night has sent you.



Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Fame


Looking out over the crowd

of dandelions

looking up

at the down of clouds

looking on

the name in stone

looking

for the world

alone



Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Fossil spring


An impression of rose leaves

dew unto others

the first stone cast

upon the face of the deep

scent by color

their word to keep



Monday, March 10, 2014

As if to say a bud is spring


As if to say
a bud is spring

in haste to speak
of everything

the tongue
admires

the heart
desires

what is
but isn’t seen



Saturday, March 8, 2014

Revelation


One stray crocus,
raised like a prophet’s fist;

boy on bicycle,
born again.



Thursday, March 6, 2014

Drought time


Raindrops big as a quarter,
three feet in between.

One of them lames a lizard,
knocks the breath out of the poor thing.

Everywhere, godforsaken clods
with measles.

No smell better
this side of paradise.

No paradise like the one
that blows away.



Tuesday, March 4, 2014

Canvas 367



Canvas 367

March 4, 2014



How


How bare trees love the moon

How an orphan grows

How dreams please themselves

How we know the moment

She goes sailing



Monday, March 3, 2014

Sunday, March 2, 2014

Saturday, March 1, 2014

Orange advice


This is life, child;
don’t just eat the orange;
first, make a design
with the peel.