the fox all burnt orange brown and soot footed
sat there in the middle of snow field

she had been watching me plod
and scratch my way across the same icy white surface

suddenly she stood and sprinted up the switch back of our common trail and made the tree line

stopping twice she marked me just before disappearing into a patch of thawed trees and dirt

eventually i made my way over to where she had vanished and checked her tracks in the snow

as if they might reveal some greater mystery

do not bother god with your petty little prayers your world weariness and concerns

instead step outside and wander the woods

ponder the melody of swelling rivers

the chemistry of change within the maples and birches

kneel as one season yields to the next

god applauds the woman who builds her own church

the man who seeks his own salvation

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

isn't it enough that the wind
makes tumbles of the umbrellas

that dark staccato notes of rain
strike with such force that we pause
  
our busy little lives and marvel at it?
isn't it enough that the very next moment

the sky turns so impossibly blue
that we remember we all have wings?

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

in the end)

time& tide                 salt water
whisper                     stars upon
all away                     the skin

blood& bone             the order
bubble                        of things
with lifelight             the mystery  
                                    of things


a moon white silent


in the dark closet of dreams
shape & shadow speak in tongues chanting
we gather the ghost slow the circles
we ember around the sun

i am                                        alone
i am                 not                 alone

(in the beginning

i like most things


the green feathers
of the parrots

a thousand shingles
of autumn light

long rugs
of snow


                                              i
                                              like most things
                                              will only be here


for that pullpush
of breath

the briefest brush
of the sun

a tremble
of rain

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

late this
last leaf

of bough bright
and stem strong

d              e              a               t                h
c               a              t               c                h  
m             e

slow
the ceremony

of
bone&ghost

breathe
i           breathe

words separate
the silence

light’s brittle
and intimate ministry

liquid across the wall
looking forward

let us leave
ourselves behind

we      breathe
            breathe

si lence of snow

the for the how

be said ghosts un

too much so fold

There is slow ly.

what is the beautiful question?
ask the tremble

of rain
ask the ocean

ask the leaves
that breathe freedom

we seek
to straighten the face

of buddha
to listen

to the rippling
of the bells

these are the irreparable embers
of the heart

and these have been the answers
all along

the leaves tried
to tell me

but i confused
their colors

the water tried
to warn me

but i misunderstood
the words

the geese tried
to guide me

but i complained
of not having wings

and soon
i found myself

alone

boughs bend
with heavy rests

of snow
the singe

of a wing
tips powdery down

white domed stones
city the river

a fox settles
in a fetch

of aspens
when was

the last time
you stretched

your shadow
untied yourself

and waded out
into the mystery

of things?
when did you

last wake
to watch

the first push
of new snow?

i once went out over a body of water

well beyond the strand
and the break in the reef

pushed and pulled by the tide, i drifted above crowns of coral
and deep pools of bluegreen

floating there i saw a shadow flash beneath me

a blade that circled and circled

in a blink                   retreating
in a blink                   advancing before finally disappearing

for months i returned to that very same spot
with the hope of seeing the manta ray

to marvel at the speed
and ease of that black kite of a body

what is it
that agitates

the complacency
the curiosity

of your life?

what is it
that shakes

you awake
with the need

to hold hands
with beauty

and danger?

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

april unties
and loosens light
it unbuttons bloom
and beauty
and shivers

a crow wings
from wire to wire
catch coughing notes
raw and fragile


we live locked


each morning
i wait the words  

each afternoon
i seek the signs

each evening
i hope the notes  

but i know
that they might

not arrive
that all of this

is unexpected
and incomprehensible

cl    ouds
cl    imb

and pile
with a sin

                gle st  
ride

they are over
the mountains

)lighteningteethmumblethunder(

sometimes
there is release

sometimes
not

but for an open moment

                                                         we we
                                                         are are
                                                     made made
                                                           to to
                                                 notice surrender

to this world’s
only power

crisp lisps
lift leaves

brown down
the street

a tree
unsleeves

winter’s win
‘tis autumn’s defeat

there are moments
when the rain bells

and pebbles
against the window

when the moon lifts
like the ocean’s only coin

we move
roomtoroom boxtobox

we move
dusttodust

should any heaven hold
both sea and sky

my mother
shall have one

my father
the other

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

(to nien cheng)

to the shudder
and split

of skin
the rip

of breath
the wet

wings
folding un

folding
in a bloodrush

of color
the first pull

onto the air
the first rise

into the notes
only you can hear


                                             touch tongue to

                                                   each cup
                                                 each chalice
                                              each open hand
                                                     of god


what urged you
from your church?

what inspired the wind
to wake you?

red the last leaf
clipped undone

and swept
across my path

what will bend
will bend

what will break
will break

scrapescrapescrape sings
the god of all things

and then her silence says
bend

and then her silence says
break

and then her silence says

we write the sky
with worthless words

ease erased
by the wings of birds

dead leaves crack
beneath my tread

color dusting
orange gold and red

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

in the fields
the hay

has been cut
and dried

the final sunflowers list
and fade

to the west
a line

of aspen trees
sigh

at the touch
of october light

two crows
call out

and hold their own
against the hawk

how will you journey
out of this life?

how will you find
that brief dark door?

what will your music
sound like?

his hands

two pieces of wood
gnarled worn torn
by the wind
and the rain
and the sun

his eyes

two dark marbles
of laughter
of sadness

his voice

deep
soft
ancient

i almost did not understand him

how are you this morning i asked

can’t grumble sir no sir can’t grumble

what makes the music so?

what sets a sound inward
or outward?

what lifts the notes
from the page?

are you a voice
an instrument
in between the silences?

what does the bell
of life
ring for you?

we de
part

and asc
end
and

o    nce
o    ver
o    ceans

we se
ek the

f    ine
l    ine

of the      hor
i               zon

in the
end

we de
sc
end

and ar
              rive
a            live

in a new light on a new road to a new beginning

consider the chemistry             of time
the delicate machine                 of sunearthwindrain

the secret language                   of when
to harvest the heart                   and when

to wait

meanwhile
we remain

by the gates
straining

to catch notes
from deep

within cathedral walls

despite tender hands memories go dark
and we come to rest beneath unfamiliar moons

each church
green glassed

and steepled
will open its doors

we will all rise
to celebrate

those who have gone
before us

and those who will one day
walk us

to the bright white lights
of so many stars

rest area
                                                            ­            each
                                                ­                st ar
                                                              ­        reaches
                                                 ­   us
                                                        her­e

a family gathers
at the foot

of the grave
in the shade

of a small tree
the gravedigger rests

upon his shovel
fires burn

by the roadside
and smoke hangs

like a halo
from the schoolyard

the children sing
salvation

salvation
one day

there will be
salvation

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

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 have never witnessed their dawn departures
or joined in their preparations

what the taste of wind might tell
what clues the clouds or the sea reveal

but each time i wake and notice the boat gone
i keep an anxious eye to the horizon

i have watched their return enough times to now know
how to position the heavy plastic tubes in the wet sand

how to hold the bow perpendicular to the shore
to the keep the waves from washing in

where to place my hands
and the exact angle needed to lift and leverage the boat

rolling it onto the tubes
and then up the sharp incline of the beach

i have learned
how to help

so much so that two of the pescadores
now smile clap me on the back

and say
la próxima vez que vengas con nosotros

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