I made you of breath
of shadows and sunbeams
of boundlessness
of folding out and in like wings
of fallings and risings
from the gravity of things
I am your leaves without
limbs or leaving
I am the circles and spirals
your body carves from air
your leaps toward heaven
when you most love the earth
I was before you and will be
after you, I am the center
and the circumference
I am within and without you
And I am your comforter
when the cold winds come in
I am the point on the line
I am brief and desirable
I eat oranges and watch
the Northward flight of geese
my being roars like oceans
I rock myself in the cradle
of self doubt and other emotions
I sometimes let take control
I rock the world like a baby
I kiss the air like my lover
here and here and there
I embrace you, World
I am your second Moon
that rose from the South
I am your eyes, your mouth
your star, your tree
and something else
I am sand, river, feather,
grass, moth, l am forever
yet lost and not found
and I am something else
and I always will be
something to someone else.

In the evening comes the dim light, the swooping away of day,
the blue, gray clouds, the turbulent air of wild birds
small specs, black and disappearing.
After awhile only quiet,
and then a certain silence settles in
it moves like fog, alongside the moon
it comes cold, blanketing the soul
a depth of space unknown
a well of darkness, undiscovered
the losing of this day, this light
and in the long, lingering hours
dwelling in the dark caved places
touching the soul and flooding the heart
the crashing waves will come
to break one wildly apart.

Turn the lights down
and remember me....
Aren't we still the same--?
in shadows
of incoherent innocence and beauty?
In the soft and limpid
florals of the spring?
Am I not the same--?
still warm, somehow?

My love--

Can we not, still make it here?
In ancient fires?
Turn me toward you, in your mind--
Wanting--
Erase the blight
with lips still seeking mine
Hair has drifted off--
the years
to catch the moonlight on a shoulder
as nothing else    will

ever

With something mined
from hearts and minds  

Touch me!
Make me forget!

time

She calls on the cardinal in winter.
All that remains of reverence for a god who has gone--
And he appears to her!
A lone spark lighting the static of snowscape
Like a bolt of lightning traverses dimensions to strike a dream.
He delivers lost loved ones as she washes the dishes.
Ascension of memory is as steam on glass.
The child raises a finger and draws the sign of the cross,
And through the clarity of its lines, she sees the river change its mind,
Stop short,
Swirl in Inertia’s moment of uncertainty
Before scrambling frantically back toward its
Source.
She washes the dishes,
And watches through window of steam and snow for a sign from God.

Change me into a snowflake,
Dancing lightly in the wind!
Change me into a snowflake,
Thro’ the misty air I’ll spin!

How exquisite and fluffy,
Soft and delicate it is!
Does no one e’er feel pity
To see it flat aft its bliss?

White and fluffy, soft and light;
I will watch you forever –
I’ll dance with you thro’ the night!
And love you as my sister.

Let me dance with you tonight,
Tho’ I’ll be dead hereafter;
Kiss me, I will take the flight,
Little snowflake forever!

Amidst the smoke and light and laughter
Along the smiles and cheers thereafter

A sound is bled, wrung free from strings
It bounds and treads and wholly sings
Inside each song, a secret’s moved
Not right nor wrong or frequent proved
The message dances from bow to ear;
A coded trance of love and fear
From left to right the story rings
Of death and light the Cello brings
The covert tale engulfs the room
It vibrates truth to those who loom
The Cello knows for why it’s played
Its secret lost, both gone and stayed

In the smoke and light and laughter
Music lies and cries thereafter

For Eugenio Corti

Perhaps the site is now a garbage heap
A parking lot, a drainage ditch, a field
Where little children chase a soccer ball
Among the flowers of a Russian spring

Whispering a memory of Italy
For here a poor Italian soldier died
His life ripped from him in a desolation
Of screams and violence and frozen horror:

But he is a candle, lit again, in Heaven where
His feet are always warm, and “Savoia!” is a hymn

While you were chasing the stars, did you ever think of the ember readily inside my heart?

While you were seeking the golden fleece, did you ever think of the blanket I weaved for you with every last leaf?

I cannot fault you,
For chasing affections that are hard to come by
For knowing
That even if you ignore me until the end of time
I'd still be there for you at the very last sunrise.

Why worry yourself with something you can never lose?