moving houseplants
into migrant light -
you know . . .
the world would be saved
if we could just feed each other
moving houseplants
into migrant light -
you know . . .
the world would be saved
if we could just feed each other
strawberry scars -
light plays with red
yet always reveals love
my fingers are in love
with card catalogues -
this
and other beautiful collections
of irrelevance
winter's white hands -
a scrawling mute
for hire
serrated stride -
winter cutting
all the wrong places
blood pooling
cooling
hands tied
knees cracked
--
yet whispers of dawn
keeping course
feathers
beneath trees
tracks
going somewhere
love on the run
--
how the season
plays out in currents
moving water
ice / veins / snow / mud /earth
and finally gone
--
fertile soil
left to give
love
I am
where I began -
snow falling gray
the season
drips and pools
over sleeping meadows
and I make peace
with nothing
to escape cliffs
and cold monasteries
I go to bed old and tired
inescapable cold -
passive lips
homeless nights
forgive me
not
morning spill -
the arrival of sunlight
all down my shirt
he looks at me
like I look at the moon -
alone at the window
remnants of riverbeds
imparting absence -
elephants know what to do
I can't keep writing this way -
peeling bark from trees
and testing creeks
for thin places
birded requiem -
the covalent expression
of your name
still
in the woods
the prophets and gods
of January's stars
bury me
in temples
too quiet
in sighs
too soft
and in the unanswerable
unbelievable
yet
winter love
notes on single-pane glass -
surely you knew
I'd lose my way a little
each day
deer tracks
on January's back porch -
the beauty of near
last night I dreamt / wild blueberries / in my hand and yours
understand
passion wears words
to a point
then blankets
of woolen knowing
enshrine shoulders
and swaddle arms
safely to sleep
under stars
underneath
understand
moonlit poverty -
Venus throws a half-smile
away