Soon this room will be empty, yes
And another will move in, decorating
Corners I thought once impossible
Only to fill holes, in their loneliness.
Soon, monsoons will imbue mesa
In color, flowers will bloom too
Love can endure, and memories
Like smoke, will drift away.

Cold and quiet twisted as she was on the edges of a dream of an endless amount of stars rose like the owl before dawn dragging the dead mouse among the shattered cottonwoods above blood on the canyon brighter than a rose, sank the grief from the lungs of the infiniteness of time oceans and deserts and swamps. Could not comprehend close the gargle of mud sat in her spat of the beauty of it all watching the gnarled dress unfurl beneath her ankles canyons full of color as she descended into another sleepless smile. The river moved on

Down by the river’s
Cold half-moon dance
Creep the thirsty
Shadows of canyon
For a quick sip,
                           Of time
Beneath all those stars
Of January.

All I am is a burning leaf
A sudden flicker, a short glare
Against the window of this existence;
Some sort of ghost, like the winter snow
Melting into a puddle in the far field.
When the gray fog turns into night,
Just at the edge of the forest.
All I am is already gone, no
Breeze left even to take me.

She called it the dark place and
Then the spring, and I agreed
That those hills they seemed
So bare that, evening the
Sunset couldn’t stay
The moon the only
Flower grey behind shy
Clouds leaned all night
A bit further down on us

Beneath the stars
The desert stretches
Its dusty mountains
A coyote howls.
Beneath the dirt
The flowers stir
Like measured whispers
To a lover.
The owl flies away silently
Leaving drops of blood
On the stones.
Soon the moon will rise
Like heartbeats.
All those hidden thoughts of mine.

The *** took a right
On Hennepin
Knew he shattered oblivion
While all the cars stood still
Still when he looked
To the winter sunset
Across the icy
River, frozen with thought
Thought well I
Know how this
Will end (stars

First I inhaled the sky
And then I
Closed my eyes
Adjusted my spine
And started
Gathering pine nuts
Beside the cinder
Cone. Then I hid in
The shade and
Read Whitman’s pages of
Unknowing beauty
Standing and sitting and
Crying then.
Walked back as if hollow
More like floating
And there he was following

Behind me I could only smile
Looking back
Fingers full of sap eyes
Like volcanoes.

If you believe in a beginning
And you believe in an end then
I could be somewhere in between—
Laughing in the dusk of first snow
Walking quietly on the edges of some
Murky swamp.
But if you don’t believe in a beginning
And you don’t believe in an end then
I could be nowhere but---
Laughing in the dusk of first snow
Walking waist deep in the heart of some
Murky swamp.

Beneath the silver snow which has gathered
And gathered for days and days
Between a dream and waking in
A cold purple January dusk. Beside the tender
Tongues of root far below the cold silver
Snow which gathers and gathers--
Sleep the soon to be moths
Of summer, those murky wings of midnight
Sleep with no sound gracefully in the warmth
Of the earth among the beginning of a
Million single sexless flowers (which
One day will guide them on the forsaken
Path of desire) deep beneath the lascivious
Warm moon will make love and love.

My stoves are empty my lungs are
Clean this desert drive is killenme
In early November remembering when
Times weren't so bad as neat said "
Ah ah ah could ya just killme or
Subway tomorrow at ten a m
It's not my van by then but
When I tend to bend toward en
Lightenment it could be as well as
Now and

Curved space so much
Said surface gathers
Information. My eyes
Are not mine, nor yours.
Infinity, or something close
Closes in. said I goodbye
And goodnight with no
End in sight. A sky
Full of electrons, cleansing
Consciousness, what a view.

Blue lilacs they remind me of
My mother’s blouse that time
I fell asleep between her arms on
That brown corduroy couch she
Kept next to the window open
Outside the humid forest was
Dark green down the ravine
Where a memory of river swept
My dreams were half pressed against
Her breast and the edge of some
Thunder heads billowing thinking
Back upon it now those forms
Opened up with so much force
With so much rain mother
She ran so quickly to the window
Laughing.

I step over black holes of
Books when the time has come
To brush my teeth bats
Go back in their cave sud
Denlly I will listen to chopin
Slowly flying ants.

Tell me what love is I would say
Could be the seagulls thick
As clay.

This morning on a walk
Propelled by utter joy
I couldn’t help but
Nudge my nose into
The end of a juniper
Bough bursting with
Crystalline rain drops;
Oh the emerald eyes of
Heaven I did look upon
And into, as the herbaceous
Tears flowed from my face.

When love comes back to you, how
Many seasons will have passed?
Sun moon and mountain
Rain wind and snow.

What great silence lies between
Is now the reason for your happiness;
Though under no moon the vast
Expanse escapes you.

Look out into the world and see the
Fleeting colors before you I can
Tell you they are the clipped feathers
Of time.

Well first you’d have to lose
Nearly half of your hope to just
Walk on the edge, then I would
Say become as sad as the thought
Of first snow, the dusk that brings
Winter and you may enter just far
Enough to hear the elk in alarm
Trample off as if they are walking on
Glass, then if you are brave and not
Afraid to die or have already died
I would say walk until the only thing
You see laying on your back is the
Soft impression of raven’s wings
On the canvas of this eternity/

Has springtime’s child shed its youthful skin?
Have you not seen it there beside the shore?
Where the water rises from the soul within
And sunshine’s gracious warmth from it explores
This summer warmth seems crude to my belief
Like weary trees naked in falls retreat
Have you not felt ascending winter’s relief?
Have you been tricked in nature’s deceit?
Summer rays fall hard in burning succession
From a silent springtime never embraced
Where graceful winds carry away questions
Of a seasoned feeling never replaced
Youthful days have passed through this ancient land
Spring lay twisted in summer’s open hand.

I The Ravens

What spirit flies in fall the raven’s
Over mesa and on the wind
High above the valley of long light
And shadow, in waves towing
With their wings the seams of night
Tugging the tight veins of winter.

Against the wind, in pairs twirl
Like lover’s in the deeper woods, and
Shadows on the stone make four
But only from the dying sun.

II Venus

What pale star rests above the kiva
In dusk the last light is Venus wearing
A crown of waning purple light I know
I know I sulk among the junipers, like
A slug beneath a stone a snake
Within his hole I know the night
To come, the cold stars not so naked.

III So is Darkness

So is darkness but the desert of
Light, and just as long as sad?
The endless journey between the
Wall of pines, the dark oceans of
The mind, climbing toward the
Edges of the summit and declaring
The emptiness of things, fluttering
Just two beneath the newly birthed
Moon.

Spring song is birdsong;
Gone, no rain but the old wind
Sighing so deeply.

I’m not saying that inner peace isn’t possible |
Though it would take a strong soul to come
Home after forty years of living in the desert
And find out the bread’s stale. The stones
Cold. And I’ve been dreaming of the ocean
For four years since I left you on the island
Dashing off into the tall pines on the sound’s
Side crying with your long green eyes. Harmony
Needs to know pain. It’s this reason why
I’ve never learned to love, though I’ve tried.

On smoked tipped wings, the
Owl sweeps the empty forest;
Death’s sweet renaissance.

Would it make you less depressed then
To know that in a world of hate
**** and death, there is a rock
Out in Utah that no eyes
have ever seen.

Not to soften the edges
Of evil
             but

A tree in Nevada, full of
Wind.

A moon gone at dawn
Stars, stars spilling canyons!

When the biscuit root raised
Its head to the unbashful sky
With white purpled eyes
And asked why. It was only
Then that spring, nothing but the
Sun and wind.

I’m only good when I’m leaving though
I’ve come around here before this time will
Only be pine trees in the rear view mirror
Teeth on hair from mustache must have
Been awhile before I’ll be back again
Only eyes in the sunset purple then
Dusk.

Of all the possible infinities
I melt beneath your stabilities
The stars and more
Like leaves in fall like
Shorter days and sleep
I know the cough of love
Sick and resilient
Your weaker sides
Aspen, juniper cedar.

Hold up your wooden cross to me
In the desert dear when you are crossing
The valley in moonlight you are killing me
And here there is no water for the blood
To move in so, just go, it seeps into the soil
As quiet as a dying star listen I can hear the
Insects that never were born the ones
That could not find the golden petals,
I watch, as you move on in moonlight
Between mesas and disappear again and again.

On the lava flow
A raven’s feather on snow;
Winter's quiet wing.

What is it about you?
You that rise into the
Onion peeled clouds,
That collect the cool rain
Like that and open your lascivious
Mouth to drink don’t you
Know it’s poisonous, useless.
You are no delicate flower
In a mountain meadow no
Swiftly swimming butterfly
In flight. You are only
Something strong, ugly
Motionless in the restless
Monsoon rains
Destroying your deepest
Darkest memories with each
Honest sip.

Make it a chiseled red line, with grey
With as many feelings as flowers
Opened petals to the rain. Take
A bough of juniper and brush
The soft skin of the sky.  The smoke
Of memories is stained. The arroyo is
Full of clay, sunken feet fill the
Mind. Thunder on the horizon
Shatters the rainbow into silence
Each color divides into dusk.
Underneath the red mesa
I peer into the purple twilight
Which is a closing eye. The
Stars open up like a field of
Evening primroses. The sound of
Frogs, from some hidden pond,
Echo in my dreams on the wetness of
Edges as I slip in and out of sleep.

Isn’t it great to know that yesterday,
The wind blew afar in a distant field, against
The overawing forest, and got plucked into the dark
Like a black hole?
Or this morning, along the coast a gust
So strong it knocked over a billboard that read
“The universe
Is everything.” But sure as day, tonight
It has arrived with a vengeance, banging
On my windows and opening my doors;
Unnerving my sleepless mind with it’s
Belligerent thighs.

It’s a movement, its going to be huge
It’s change change and hope
Divided divided divided down
The middle, no more rotten, and I see
The seeds that bare no fruit.

This is the nexus of never
An underlining sigh. Rain
Through the tall leaves
Tonight, tonight.

Maybe I will listen to Chopin
One day and fall asleep do you
See the far stars on the near road
In early October? They are elk horns.
Dreams of rockets, bugle streams
Melvin at the pool table again
Beyond the eastern boundary
Of the reservation Germans who
Can’t speak English even say
How did we get here? They count
The time with each breath each
Sip then Blake’s lot a burger doesn’t
Sound so bad does it?

If I could make this landscape into a point Of light I would
Like trying to grab the stars so gracefully tiredly they would
Even say again go

The harbinger of death
Arrives in summer
On sultry wings,
A blessing of the winds
Frayed and torn,
Receiver of the ill and
Mistress to the moon
(A kiss from eternal worlds)
In the time of fire and flood
Dressed in a dusky robe
Appears out of the deeper
And darkest woods
On the earliest day of the year.

It’s a dream, they keep
In false eyes, memories
Of forgotten stars
On horizon’s edge
Fluttering like a great wave
Floating between two
Unknowns, fierce
And enduring.

So thoughtful to the wind
You cross the street like a
Flower sprouting up through
The rubble of an ancient village;
Some sort of low to the ground
Purple and white creature, with
bold eyes.

And it was only early April
When the sky moved too
Across the desert and
Like a blanket on the edge
Of a bed, crumpled into
The purple, midnight stars
That sagged all night
Over reckless mountains.

I started drinking scotch at twenty seven
Mostly the days were filled with mountains
Contradictions that gazed in mirrors
As wet as rain drops the hours.

Loved on a beach in the swamp and
Desert. Couldn’t be as sad one day

When I move, the multiverse
Crumbles to the floor like
Snow falling through a darkening
Forest. I leave it behind in wake. A
Mirror with the reflection of god
Shatters—and we are born. Some
Vastly small burst of energy sitting
Down, beside a candle. Every moment
The substance of existence is washed
Against the shores of the mind. Sea
Birds swirl too in slanting rain. Christmas
In New Mexico now, snow falling on mesas
Outside of me, in the darkness and silence.
And why is the future so enthusiastically
Demanding, at all times, to be consumed?

If you would like to write a poem run away
Into the far field of September choked with
Sunflowers full of bees become small become
More or less an endless possibility become
Light become dark, follow the coyote through
The junipers and see the stars. If you would like
To write a poem move to the desert develop
A sadness that can only be moved by a devotion
To the colors of the rain and devour hours
Of afternoons like a mountain gathering
Clouds gather truth. If you would like
To write a poem begin with the end
Draw a circle in the sand of some dead
River and then erase it, slip into October
Unnoticed and as the days become shorter
Become closer, remember what it's like to cry.

What kind of stars do you worship are
They desert? What kind of pink are
Your sunsets? Dream. Mesa and
Moon, memories. Spring and
All the blood through these veins;
Carving out this dust from my eyes
So pharaoh.

Darkness in the swamp
No slanting moon smiling tonight
Just an overwhelming vibration
From the universe above.

To be a part of the whole
And love in the time of living
In the smallest fraction of space
The hope that lingers near.

I am facing her now
My breathe frigid and cold
And she is staring back at me
With a question on her tongue.

I pull the stars so near to my body
The shadows between compress
And I hold her hand tightly
In spite of all our differences.

I have annihilated all fears
And as my head spins toward hers
A star very far away
Is born again.

Somewhere now
In the deeper canyons
Of night, hidden in a
Garden of stars, crawls
Out from a deeper woods,
A ghost of a ghost, hunched
On hind limbs and ready
For the pounce.
      All night.
And you, you are
The deer that wanders
Through the aspen doors
Of a meadowed mist,
Beside the dizzying stream.
And what, what will you
Do then, when those trees
Begin to shift, when the stars
Begin to move?

And how could I forget
Your broken wrist which
So delicately wore an emerald
Bracelet, or your shallow
Seas of miseries and vast plains
Of grass? But the beauty of
The flesh is this; that which
Hides within, a rose you once
Held to the sky and watched
It turn to stone.

I imagine the wind
Being taken out from the
Sails. Or that moment
Before you fall from
Your horse. If gravity
Were to flip itself.
An empty soda can
In the far woods
.
I imagine
A piano by the surf
Playing an endless song.
A simpler bird.
Beethoven and the rain
Or. The worse possible pain.
What it finally took to love
And understand.

There she was
Beneath the ash tree
Wearing many seasons
One
Long sweep of her dress
Fire gold
In the dawn light
With the sun hidden
Behind the mountain
Burning. The leaves
Caught in the frozen air
Full of frost
And yearning. Her hair
Was red her eyes gray
And morning was just beginning
My eyes sliding down my nose
Caught off guard

Use to not be more than a memory
Some green grass in the far field; use
to remember when the corn fell; Gods
Were more than just a belt strap. Stood
In the sunrise smiling. Before all the
Katsinas and ketchup. Use to feel that
Soft days were no less than a slow
Slap.

will   stars   rain   moon   desert   night   snow   time   light   day   eyes   black   clouds   cold   beneath   sky   purple   love   red   dusk   wings   fall   green   river   dark   soft   mountains   wind   juniper   memories   move   walk   air   thought   silver   darkness   mesa   flowers   days   sun   tears   edges   death   stone   dead   full   deep   dreams   sleep   blue   memory   hole   forest   man   open   white   grey   tonight   mountain   edge   sunset   endless   walking   sound   moth   emerald   spring   long   grass   woods   song   vast   bird   water   slip   window   swamp   earth   slow   morning   empty   deeper   mind   infinity   ocean   weeds   broken   afternoon   head   smile   glit   garden   blanket   sand   small   thunder   filled   body   path   leaving   eye   heart   keep   sip   winter   waves   dream   years   birds   evening   shadows   dawn   flower   tree   sad   bough   petals   face   colors   find   piano   hope   sea   poem   slowly   frozen   cross   moment   early   reflection   summer   field   wet   color   laughing   born   mirror   trees   road   valley   october   draw   heaven   laying   emotions   falling   strong   great   leaves   emerge   feelings   cloud   call   coyote   hold   room   soul   gathers   thin   high   returned   divided   beauty   blood   remember   midnight   write   veins   fish   spider   january   living   opened   god   overwhelming   times   pines   tomorrow   ancient   silent   murky   storm   listen   half   falls   mouth   stood   junipers   stones   dorothy   ground   going   canyons   cry   view   asleep   existence   close   drunk   wall   mexico   soil   quiet   lascivious   things   stillness   breeze   left   distant   web   crying   game   shadow   clay   corn   universe   horizon   silence   lies   brush   low   deer   single   star   holes   teeth   forget   dance   hurricane   layers   shattered   hurry   flash   young   brown   wave   cool   die   race   entropy   venus   sigh   feathers   prairie   haiku   emptiness   plays   fingers   blur   toes   gathered   november   change   wait   crumbles   stalks   rests   changed   smoke   standing   primrose   lose   breathe   door   started   brings   warm   mesas   drops   history   beautiful   thirsty   expanding   pulling   bend   bones   sitting   pine   beach   map   wrong   bloom   grow   trembling   shore   crept   goodbye   tall   wing   help   september   limbs   feel   orange   covered   hidden   crawls   underneath   snake   kiss   hands   front   feathered   arrow   bats   loneliness   *****   heavy   house   zebra   space   misses   eternal   zuni   quick   reason   imagine   cough   florida   thing   disappearing   sounds   mist   flutter   final   kind   horizons   street   bare   gathering   mesquite   throat   rearranged   dancing   cave   jungle   pain   rearrange   flow   drive   gracefully   reflections   clean   shot   chopin   loved   watch   shy   naked   bad   delicately   set   burst   slanting   smiling   smallest   closed   boughs   petrified   elk   smoldering   hours   movement   april   plants   journey   canyon   three   lived   monsoons   wake   smoking   layer   fled   wound   lava   phoebe   drink   delicate   glades   mother   consciousness   flesh   moments   touch   hills   cuffs   rose   march   apart   desire   onion   spine   oblivion   people   hair   lips   erase   fox   fog   christmas   quit   choked   wept   side   seeds   tongue   quietly   fern   pink   rising   seasons   bought   shells   flying   hear   meditations   sadness   unfolding   prayer   watched   floating   ghosts   fill   dying   floor   nah   multiverse   tight   swirl   eternity   tides   stay   fell   snitch   vein   ghost   hammock   mud   moved   moonlight   songs   fawn   raining   crumpled   worms   vermilion   soften   thoughtful   skin   winds   follow   hate   youerode   vet   patches   slips   finally   sway   flowed   fax   coop   rise   swallows   misunderstanding   tantalizing   decide   forked   drinking   marrow   annihilated   wooden   leveled   ceaseless   gun   leave   dusky   dip   dilute   force   meadow   ten   bleeding   hanging   direct   waking   burger   rusty   dried   wrens   snipers   rator   anythin   poisonous   lights   haze   grandparens   pulsating   told   chaotic

Beginning to Paint

Can I erase on my face, these tears?
Can I use a brush to flush out September?
Raise the moon high above the mesa
Now nothing more than a vermilion mist
Shaded in by the side of my thumb.

Can I draw a green plant in a red ***?
In the morning, when morning creeps
In through the window which looks
Out upon the young day with a long sigh
While I slowly sip my coffee.

Can I sketch a cloud into the empty afternoon
And make it into a memory? Can it be
Raining over the mountains while the wrens
Dart from juniper to juniper like
Conversation smothered?

Can I trace in your face, those cheeks?
Draw your firm lips into a red rose
And your eyes, such an emerald thought
Can I push them in to become black
And stay there?

slowly
the tide turns
while the seagulls
ride the waves of air
above the dunes.
The white sails of
storms float on
and away, the broken
shell lays buried in the sand;
I grab it with my mind.
Beyond the dunes
in the cool, dark cedars
the old wind still stirs
salty and brash.