my mother
has moved

from october
to november

to the same rooms
the same furniture

and the same framed photos
to the same plates

and glasses
the same clipped light

and the same taunting shadows

my mother
has moved

from october to november
where now

she sits waiting
to move closer

to december

here    hear
is (w) here

          the       the
          ear       ear
          th m    th m
          ove      ove
          s

           here    hear
is (w) here

          the       the
          cro       cro
          w&c    w&c
          ica        ica
          d ca     d ca
          all        all

           here    hear
is (w) here

           the      the
           ski       ski
           es        es
           kis       kis
           s co     s co
           lli        lli
           de       de

crisp lisps
lift leaves

brown down
the street

a tree
unsleeves

winter’s win
‘tis autumn’s defeat

cold collects
the warmth of breath

and kicks free
the final leaves

winter takes
what winter wants

and we watch
how autumn grieves

blue has cooled
the stubbled fields

trees release
their autumn yields

a brilliant coin
the moon tonight

for winter’s purse
and a silence bright

autumn leaves angle
in a scrim

of light
untangled crows lift

from wires
and ever slow the sky

to set
and retire

you are enough

for this world
to touch

what trembles
and sigh

you are enough

at night
they lock

the doors
shut off

the sun
turn off

the waterfalls
but there

just beyond
the cooling blue

of the glass
cement

and steel
the stars

breathe
so patiently

and the stone said

don’t forget
to touch

and the sun said

don’t forget
to breathe

and the rain said

don’t forget
to cry

and the ocean said

don’t forget
to scream

and the falling leaves said

don’t forget
to laugh

and the snow said

don’t forget
to sleep

i fly
through the clouds
of my mother’s lungs

untouched
by the sun
or the moon

i walk
through the forest
of my mother’s lungs

lost
in its great shadows

i swim
through the caves
of my mother’s lungs

the rising tides
drowning out
all pockets
of air

it came slowly out
of the switchgrass

and weeds
plodding

reptilian black
against the light brown dust

of the bike trail
i rode up to it

two feet long at least
from head to tail

so think skinned
and heavy

and that menace
of a mouth

we quietly eyed each other
before the snapping turtle

rambled
down the embankment

and slide
into the dark water

of the canal

we still        behold the ancient
                     gaze at the wonders of heaven
                     marvel at what the past holds up to her mirror

push
into the pelagic refractions

of cerulean
and celadon

stand
on an unknown shore

that washes the elemental
into the celestial

inner    space

             space

outer    space

a man walks towards me his arms clumsy with books

i hold the door open for him and notice that the books are gideon’s bibles

i overheard a nurse say yes i know he is dead but what was the time of death?

a priest walks briskly by past the elevator choosing to take the stairs instead

in the room across the hall from my mother’s the nurse always has to ask

sir?

do you know where you are?

you are in the hospital

the azaleas
have yielded

to the peonies
heavy

with rain
they have

in turn
bowed

to the hydrangeas
who have next

nodded
to the magnolias

such a patient parade
such a sharing

of sight
and scent

she said
i am ready

for the end
of my life

i am prepared

she found it
heavy

and wet
and struggling

to stand
in the shallows

of the creek
a fawn

not a week
or two old

the woman called
to me

from the creek
and passed

the fawn up
to me

it collapsed
on the grass

of the trail
trembling

and exhausted
it bawled

for its mother
i sat down

beside it
and dried

and warmed
its small body

of sticks
after a while

it stood
and made its way

carefully clumsily
into a thicket

of briars
and it was there

that i left it

who will find us in those first moments of life?
who will hold us in our final hour?

who will light the candle?
who will blow it out?

we wake well
in the early hours

i sit
in a steady hive

of light
where stillness

is the reward
the chipmunks rest

beside me
and care not

that i exist
a carolina wren explores

the cold ashes
in the hearth

of my brother’s backyard fireplace
never knowing

that i am sitting right here
a tiny red spider knits

between the leaves
of the hydrangeas

oblivious of me
or the machine pushing

through the blue silk
of the sky

is there any greater truth in life?
is there anything better than the industry of each day?
when you leave, will i miss you?

we walk
blossom blessed

drift petals down
pollan dusted

color coded inks
in whites and pinks

let purple and yellow yawn
the day’s lush lining of dawn

a woodpecker with its percussive no-no-no-notes
the fanfare of the ferns unfurling

when things threaten
to spin at such terrific speeds

build bright and breathe
new windows will open and say

to that which inevitably speeds away
for a single moment more

stay

twice now
i have been close enough

to smell
their sharp scent

before actually seeing them
the deer

silent still
and pulling new leaves

from the lowest branches
for minutes

they tolerated my presence
before calmly

moving down the trail
across the creek

and up the steep bank
on the other side

in time         we will trust the sun and the air
in time         we will howl our new anthem at the moon

after the rain
a red tailed hawk came

to rest
on a bough

of a tree
in my brother’s backyard

two grackles
took immediate exception

and began
to badger

the far bigger bird
weary

of the attention
or simply indifferent

the hawk eased
onto the air

and swept away
just above

my head
just beyond

my pounding heart

from a thatch
of bamboo

burst a cardinal blurred
so rushed in red

above the creek
the heron pendulumed

         back and
forth

its shadow
an old code

‘tis

the dream
that wakes us

the mystery
that makes us

the fear
that takes us

we stirred
and startled the bird

standing there in the reeds
and the still of the eddy

legs
a stealth of sticks

head
a gaveled spike

and in that briefest moment
the heron

str   etc   hed   imp   oss   ibl   e wi   ngs

feathered gravel grey and unfolding
it grabbed hold of a rope of air

its long neck collapsing perfectly into its body
a fluency of grace and speed that soon saw it well above the water

and shadowing down the sand bars and creek beds

there can be no life without          fear
there can be no life without          love

don’t forget
to unsettle

the night sky
with your stars

i sit the seed
beneath me

just now born
of a blue

never before hued
the teeth

and tongue
of it

we spin
the space

bird song
and winged

meanwhile
the infinite shrugs

her shoulders
and drifts back

to sleep

the way we lose
our fathers

and mothers
out beyond the trespass

of light
where sparklers dance

the summer dark
no single language

no simple answer
the wheel

of grief
with its windquick

and intimate fists
pummels the rubble

of what remains
what fades away

and there
just beyond

the weight of it
the moment

that threatens
to touch

and take you

the hummingbird
all function

and form
impossibly winged

and ricochetting
from one cupped sun

to another
i stood my ground

and imagined the percussion
of its tiny heart

a muscle the size
of a grape seed

there it was
right before my eyes

the bird lingered
for a moment

and then nudged off
into this uncomfortable world

there is so much work
yet to be done

when life and death
sit in the same room
the eyes of the dead are left open

above the baskets of fruit
and the piles of shoes
coffins hang on walls

a cross
made of two broken branches
marks a new grave


bla   ck b   ird   s wa   tch   fro   m we   ary   wir   es


please
let me finish

this thought
this breath

this life

untethered
the rain

tapped incessantly
upon the surface

of the sea
smoothing the waves

calming the pull
of the tide


this is what love feels like


the weight
of it

the drumming
of the blood

percussive
through the corridors

flooding its way
to and from

the heart
where it hides

in quiet places

this little wrist
of sand

marks many
a morning’s search

wave worn
and shore washed

like shells
stones

or broken bits
of coral

tossed about
in tidal bows

once i woke                 certain there was no god
once i watched           a mountain lion bound the trail before me
once i walked             with venus and jupiter in the pre-dawn sky
once i was

where does such wild come from?
why does the full of the moon excite us so?
when you died, did you collect all the perfect petals?

this new morning light is not
some mask or bright new coat to slip on

it is not
a sign or signal of what once was or will soon be

these waves are not
the fingers or fists of some dark leviathan roaring forth to claim my body

they are not
glassy cylinders splintering into millions of pieces on the shore

last night’s full moon was not
a pale coin or some other currency of love or mystery

these things just are
as we are

beautifully present one moment
and gone the next

you either understand that
or you don’t

morning

spills of bird song
the persistence of a wary dog
the stars and their small hands still building

afternoon

a duet of car alarms
the siege of a dump truck
the tantrum of a neighbor‘s television
a badling of helicopter blades
a ****** of motor scooters

match strikes spark

                                                                                                               a body

skin catch kindling

                                                                                                           in flames

all smolder smoke

                                                                                                           feels like

and blister burn

                                                                                                               a body

that crackles charred

                                                                                                           in flames

black and black

there is no pleasure
in their harsh notes

even beneath the bluest skies
there is no beauty

in their flight
a frantic choreography

as if taking to the air
for the very first time

twitching
from one tree

to the next
but their color

such a giving green
and that breath of red

patched just beneath
each wing

says much
of their humor

their jocularity

will you have a look at us?
how the hell did we even get here?
and really who knew all this would be such fun?

many
are the morning ghosts

who see
what we cannot

who architect
in the broad sweeps

of things
the sky

perfectly pieced
with the sea

the waves
piling up

on the strand
how the trees

and the earth
tendril together

to weave their way
up up up

it is autumn here
where warm rain falls
instead of bright hokkaido leaves
i do not prefer one mystery to the other
as both hold equal measure

this evening
miles out at sea
ribbons of lightning shred
beneath the ribs of a thunderhead

within the hour
the storm had tiptoed off the horizon
all those around me
distracted by more mundane things
were none the wiser


but let me ask you this


when was the last time beauty
stopped you in your tracks
laughed at your silly deeds and demands?

when was the last time beauty
took in her gentle hands
and shook you all to pieces?

in the mango tree
across the street

a prattle of parrots
most evenings meet

to chew the fat
and the mango sweet

with a secret cue
they screech away

then circle back
as if to say

this was the best
part of your day

there have always been
great stretches

of silence
eventually

the arrival
and departure

of possibilities
seep slowly in

something
that glows

into focus
steady

and strong enough
gently forming

and holding its pose
for a moment

or two
constantly repeating

the same message

yes
here is the thought

yes
here are the words

in the little
of the morning

red flags
are already raised

the sounding wind moves
through the trees

unsettling
loose leaves

the horizon slides darker
stitched black

with lightning
bruised blue

with pummels
of thunder

first drops blink
on the dry ground

haloing
in the sand

all this
just before

the world
shrieks

and sighs

hovering
between two languages

light’s decay
must choose

its words
carefully

growling
in the distance

dark plumes
ruffle

the color
of the sea

out       side         in         in         side        out

when fear shakes
the breath from our lungs

when poison measures
too much

in the blood
how do we

return to center?
how do we

renew beauty?

i do not believe
in ghosts

but i am cordial to them nonetheless

i do not believe
in god

but from time to time i wonder how she is doing

i do not believe
in heaven

but i am curious as to what might be on the other side of this door

i do not believe
in hell

but just in case i mind my manners

i do not believe
in the beatles

well actually i do and they are definitely better than the rolling stones

the rains
have returned

as have the parrots
that now riot down

these evening streets
this morning

a hummingbird
ash grey

and the size
of child’s thumb

floated
between the flowerless branches

of a tree
              slowly

things have found
their way back

into focus
into some semblance

of routine
and order

but small cracks
remain

open invitations
for grief

to come
galloping back

                          did you really think you would be rid of me so easily?
                                                          that this would last only a moment?
        who do you think it has been filling your dreams with shadows?

sparks arc
the air

and sigh
into darkness

what was
once

is now
gone


      ]and so grinds grief[     ]the very pit of it[      ]the incessance[


and there will come a day

to shake down stars
and rediscover

and there will come a day

to push sorrow aside
and wake wanting

but not today
and certainly

not now

in the early hours
when you

set
upon a quiet house

now the morning
cracked

and screaming
now the weight

of so many words
now the smudge

the sun makes
and when at last

we catch cathedral
let us release you

to a bolt
of blue sky

dark
the morning down

where saturn jupiter
and venus

nibble
at a waning moon

where birds unseen
spit tinny notes

where light climbs
to the tip

of the rim
tripping up

into great spills
and seeping free

leaf to leaf
tree to tree

after you died
we sat there

just the two of us
in complete silence

your eyes
were still open

so i stood up
reached across

your quiet body
and closed them

i held your hand
until the doctor arrived

then he and i signed
the death certificate

soon after that
two men

from the funeral parlor
took your body

my mother
your daughter

sent an email today
reminding me

that had you lived
you would have been

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