It was all a blur
Of birds, a stirring of
Leafs and then
It was over
Like after a storm
Or between tides
A thousand seasons
A thousand embraces
Of one last goodbye;
Suddenly the silence
Of understanding
The calm dread

How far do we tend to travel beyond death?
Many people say only a few thousand feet.
Can you see me there stuttering?
And what memories do we take with us
Downstream  but only a few time heavy stones?
Those is which we chose to reminiscence.
Love the roundness of gravity
And hope the shape of change.
I can only remember that which
Only takes me as far as
The distant shore.

The mountain holds a lake
Like a tree remembers it leaves;
The way snow embraces dusk
And dread hangs onto hope.

The nation has no time to sigh,
Even though it should;
All the arching bones decay
As one in unison.

Me, well, dusk has a deeper touch
Than just the outward earth;
Bounded to the infinite
I'd say the weather is but fair.

Down in the canyon
Where the sun falls
Onto a stone, the light
Of autumn.
Down in
The shadow of the
Stone’s deeper signs
Small birds sing.
On the wind
I know the time
When everything dies
I know the time
When everything lives
On the wind.
The trees become themselves.
Quiet as deeper into
The night you go
Never leaving your feet
You float.

Beyond the mountain
Stars sleep
Free of prejudice.
In the pink light
Of morning the
Birds sing.

Where are all my thoughts behind the trees
Into the deepest part of the night, beyond
The edge of beginning  to love
Into the swamp of life, the great muck pool.
Behind the trees into the deeper night
Where the stars wander freely
(that’s where I am going). Beyond
The hills dressed in the gown of the moon
Beyond the craggy ridges of the giant
Who feel asleep crying. Beyond the street
The bank of trees are breathing in the musty light
Of the lamp, a group of birds huddled together
Feather’s ruffled in the wind.

I think of a heart
Scripted into the soft sand
Of a hollow day, in the evening
Of the year. Broken by
A thousand footsteps
(I’ve known many hearts like this)
When the aspen were both
Green and yellow. I think of
The juniper, almost vertical,
Clawed to the steep bank
As if they might walk up
And over, but knowing
Their true fate, as if to never
Be below (I’ve known many
People like this). I think of
A time when the bones of
Stars have faded and all
Of space is empty, in the evening
Of the end. When there is
No light left to guide and the only
Sound is that of the dead
Tiptoeing through the arroyo.