THE ONLY WAY OF LOOKING AT A BIRD
( for Glyn Pope )

she looked at the bird
with all of her self

as if by some alchemy
of thought

she flew into
its shape

as it became the air
her mind opening

its wings
to the sky

the house now
a little blue egg

far far below her
her voice curving

into a beak
that flung its being

into the song
of self

scrawled across
a sky

becoming sunset
so that

becoming human
again

was a grief
that could only be

expressed
in birdsong.

Wishing to fly my kite again...
The secret of it

I gave up on...
the ones we made in school
of paper stuck in trees

Only by the ocean
could I send one to the sky
Tail of yellow streaming
if the wind was right
Tethered to its spool
My sky-dog
on leash of string
released, unwound
my hope
to send it all aloft
with crescent moon
and golden rocket on the blue--
diamond growing ever smaller
into the light of day
Until it stood above for hours
on the gentling winds
a miracle

Lying in the sand below
I dream about it
tail curling in the currents
on this coldest of days
a miracle
still

Winter Birds

Slow circles
survival’s muttering flotilla
of buoyant quacks
that worry black water’s warmth
of 32 degrees
just short of the freeze
stirred
by tired paddling
Maybe a dozen—clockwise slow
till morning finds the one that slept
through snow’s hypnosis
in dawn’s quiet clench....

My eyes closed on you
and you went away

I believe only
what I see and feel
My mouth against yours?
Warmth of breath
Most tenuous contact of desire
for you
You--
odd cloud in blue
a dream Untrue...
...it is of you
to Lie this way--
Our bodies touch along our lengths, our lives
and curves
and angles
You so curled around me
Your arm across my chest
Possession
of your hand
opened
upon the neck-- of my universe
to unnerve
deceive

My knowing
heart
left
to believe
you were ever here
You would be

ever

The bodied lilly fires in ashing haze
and from her amber embers I devolve,
into a weeping candle - churning maize;
an orb at night, alight to my absolve.

Remorse suffused with jasmine glazes woe
as moonlight trailings battle hue my grief
for left no infant child to mirror so -
my lover's petals, ceasing lines of leaf.

Nor have, I flare to scribe a marbled ode
that could so hymn or bear my love that shared
nor stone as cold as grey, be just; that owed
the flaming satin, fate had not so spared.

Then let this writ incense - her newly form
until my vigil dims; to death's reform.