How Beautiful
/resting
at the confluence
of love and nothingness -
how beautiful
the space
in you
resting
at the confluence
of love and nothingness -
how beautiful
the space
in you
under dawn's thin climb
I ache in the white-sleeved arms
of pines and prisms
my elegy plays
through wintered glass
please return
a distillery
of light
and handwritten
thoughts
you already
knew -
Sunday
deep night -
what choice is there?
I face the moon
and smile
always this
butternut moon
and low light along the way -
the backroads mean more
tossing pebbles
across honeycomb ice -
I am
no thing
and it begins
to sink in
a little moonlight
on the pew -
I sit long enough
to know the destiny
of blue
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