we walked
beneath a tree

teeming
it seemed

with white butterflies
hundreds of them
  
locked
in chaotic knots

of flight
it was quite

a sight
what with the heavy pace

of each day
it was nice

to find a quiet place
and watch

such a winged
display

the church bells
sound the hour

but it is the leaves
we turn to

for time
watch closely

at the ghosts
and bones

of autumn
the final breaths

heavy with yellow
and red

we release
like all colors called

and collected
we release

there is a line
between

the songs
of love

and the songs
of grief


this is what the silence said


there is a line  
into out of

the horizon
of earth

and sea
and sky


this is what the silence did

ruffled
into rust

dust wind
lifted

drifts
of scraps

puddle
into piles

spill
and clutter

into corners

let us          testify            that everything is an energy
let us          agree             that kindness is a necessity
let us          embrace        the details that call light forth

the crows complain
of october rain

an autumnal fuss
they can’t sustain

these days paint gray
each frame of film

dulled steel drains all color
from the sky

slate scrapes the skin raw
for what winter will wear

but wait
what was that just there?

did you see it?
the very tip of that cumulus kindled

a single note
of ignition and possibility

so take a deep breath
and remember

if you keep your heart open
something beautiful will step inside

fr      sb     so     er     yt     wa
om   ir      ma   en     hu    y
hi     ds     ny    ot     sr
sb    se      wo   fo     un
ed    ar      rd    ro     st
he    ch     st      ne    he
wa   in     ha     mo   wo
tc     gf     tw     re     rl
he    or     ew    da    da

the ceiling is grey
as are the walls

and the rain
the sidewalks

and streets gloam
with the wild litter

of leaves
faded colors

corner into collections
gather at the mouths of gates

they brew in puddles
steep in the chill

of november
the reign of autumn

is over
winter waits

for no one
which makes these last notes

all the more miraculous

there is a light

there it is again

i reach for it

and hope it holds

it does

and i begin to walk my way out

of the darkness

growling
in the distance

dark plumes
untent

ruffling
the color

of the sea


           out
side
                 in in
side
          out


whenfearshakes
thebreathfromourlungs

whenpoisonmeasures
toomu­chintheblood

                                                          how do we
                                                                  return
                                                            to center?

                                                          how do we
                                                                  renew
                                                               beauty?

a pandemonium
of parrots

ridiculously green
against a perfect pale blue december sky

prattled
and shrieked with glee

they darted as they will do
this way and that

well above the ginko trees
still holding high in their yellowgold

remember this

when counting blessings
or giving thanks

sight and sound
heaven sent
or heaven bound

remember this

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 either side of this door

i do not believe
in the 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

do not be afraid
of what is left behind

do not be afraid
of being left behind

accept the circles
within and without

accept that the seasons
were are and will be

accept that we
were are and will be

the something
the nothing

ever graceful
ever beautiful

nampula
wakes at first light

she bundles brightly
and brooms the streets

breathing the blue sky
she walks her brother to school

half naked
she sits in the dirt screaming

she cements shards of glass
to the tops of walls

when rain turns the roads into rivers
she builds bridges out of boards

she carries charcoal
on the back of her bicycle

from the side of the road
she sells puppies from a basket

she balances her belongings
on her head

resting in the shade of a tree
she breastfeeds her newborn

at the checkpoint armed with an assault rifle
she asks for our passports

playing with her friends
she rolls old tires down dirt roads

she moves
through the brutal beauty of chaos

nampula
sleeps at last light

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?

these delicate bones               these smooth stones
of morning                              of last light

wait wet                                   vesper edged
in the grass fragile                 and meshed

a framework                           cooling and
quick brittled                          tipping

to break                                    into the soft
if not handled                         shrapnel

with care                                 of stars

the mechanics
of the invisible

circle slowly
upon themselves

petals pressing
ever tighter

losing light
but gaining strength  

we watch
and wonder

testing the heavy air
so cautious

with it all
things thorned

and what
of the unseen?

do they come
to rest

in dust covered boxes
up there

on the top shelf
waiting?

he sweeps
the dead

leaves
into little piles

it is a simple task
but he is very old

and this light labor
exhausts him

) side                              to                                             side(
          ( in h is h and s )     ( a b am b oo m broo m )

what will you do
with your string

of time?
the slow notes

of motion
the blood-red bells

of heartbeat?
how will you measure

the fire
and surprise

of silence?

morning tapped
the window

go see
what night has left you

                                                       (along the strand
                                                   waves in bright sways)
                                                     )pitched salty sparks
                                                      in pounding sprays(

do not
always choose comfort

or seek the familiar
it is fine

to ignore routine
to hold hands

with spontaneity
to wake

from a sleep
undreaming

a summer ago

chipmunks scampered all over my brother’s back yard

they hid in the rock walls of the patio eating seeds and grass

once as i sat there in silence one ran right over my feet

but that was a year ago

i had noticed that now there weren’t any more chipmunks in my brother’s back yard and it puzzled me

then i saw its head sticking out of a crack in the concrete atop the basement stairs

magnificently black and perfectly scaled

its tongue pale pink quick

its eyes unblinking

the head leading the thick cord of its body
  
the snake had no interest in me and returned to its little chamber

there is no evil in the heart of a snake

and that is why i have kept its secret

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?

autumn aches
of crimson breaks
and gold mistakes
things we must
take up with rakes

last night
the wind wiped away

the rain washed away
all marks all evidence

every road
and trail

are now scrubbed clean
this morning is quiet

the petals ready
everything shimmers

with the promise of

m(ending)
                                 you
           a      nd
         i(n)
      me

grey tore
at the shore

and whitecapped
each wave

save
for the few

that tapped
my shoe

each gull
bentwinged dull

feathered sang of the sea
and of you

to me

after a storm like that the birds remain silent and the sky is scrubbed well beyond blue

dead branches litter the streets

a man deeply worried is out looking for his missing dog

a few minutes later the dog bounds out of the woods and runs to me

together we sit and wait for the man to return

a bough bends with the weight of a squirrel

the hydrangeas are heavily sponged with rain

i run my hands across the top of them and then wash my face with wonder

where once i watched a family of six deer rest beneath the shade of a tree now stands the skeleton of a new house

how the hand of man presses nature away

the headless body of a bird and thousands of cicada corpses all dance into decay

a cool breeze keeps knocking waterdrops down

birdsong begins to stir

before me two chipmunks dash crazily across the road

deer tracks fresh in the new mud their thick scent still hanging strongly

they are close and i have only just missed them

the world wakes and unwings

i breathe

and just to be sure

i breathe again

our time together
has drawn to a close

you have had
your fair share

and i mine
there were fair moments

when i was soft
with sorrow

hard
with loss

but there are many feathers in a wing
and you may have only one

it is time to find my way
through the sky now blue

before i am done
i must make my own path

to the resting sun

the crows care little
for the mist

the snowmelt
or the palleted rain

they call
and carve the air

above the park
where do they go

after dark?
in their night silence

what do they think about?
elsewhere

something stirs
from its winter slumber

elsewhere
something uncoils

from its tight darkness
do not concern yourself

with the heavy details
of life

with the weight
of things

that sometimes swing
against you

find a place
with quiet light

and sing

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

104

there is a moment
when we speed

from beneath the heavy ground
sometimes

we are met
by a sky thick

with curtained clouds
sometimes

all is washed
in the gray

of rain
most days

it is the gentle sun
just waiting

and teeming
and promising

that this is how
your new life

will begin

wind kicked
the litterleaf
(greengrown gold)

in coughs
of color
beneath our feet

we watched
the late sky
(blueblown grey)

ember into lastlight
into the breathwhite
of waiting winter

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

these
are braided days

leaves delicate
weaves

of last color
quick ribbons

of snow
tangled

through the grey fingers
of trees

and tie themselves
to me

what we build
with brittle sticks
and little scars
lingers
in the language
of trees
rests
among the secrets
of stones

we control nothing

stand on any shore
sights set to the horizon
searching for answers
but what we need

is not             touched by tides
is not             found in the sliding of the sun
is not             floating in the many blue notes of the sea

they remain
where they have always been
and where they always will

dead
leaves crowd corners
and doorways
wind kicked
and twisted
as we are
down sidewalks

stone steps
let confetti fly
into gutters
and scatter
upon the canals
dappled
as we are
with decay
moted notes
of yellowbrown

when i am old and     move slowly from window to window
when I am old and     my loves have all been collected
when I am old and     each season stuns me

i will wake
every morning
place my feet
on the floor
and breathe
for the first time

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

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?