I am no dark little girl with
her pretty little
eyes

but I harness
my own
darkness,
from time to
time.

O HURRY where by water among the trees
The delicate-stepping stag and his lady sigh,
When they have but looked upon their images --
Would none had ever loved but you and I!
Or have you heard that sliding silver-shoed
Pale silver-proud queen-woman of the sky,
When the sun looked out of his golden hood? --
O that none ever loved but you and I!
O hurty to the ragged wood, for there
I will drive all those lovers out and cry --
O my share of the world, O yellow hair!
No one has ever loved but you and I.

Out of the dry days
through the dusty leaves
far across the valley
those few notes never
heard here before

one fluted phrase
floating over its
wandering secret
all at once wells up
somewhere else

and is gone before it
goes on fallen into
its own echo leaving
a hollow through the air
that is dry as before

where is it from
hardly anyone
seems to have noticed it
so far but who now
would have been listening

it is not native here
that may be the one
thing we are sure of
it came from somewhere
else perhaps alone

so keeps on calling for
no one who is here
hoping to be heard
by another of its own
unlikely origin

trying once more the same few
notes that began the song
of an oriole last heard
years ago in another
existence there

it goes again tell
no one it is here
foreign as we are
who are filling the days
with a sound of our own

Hello night I've come to know
Through darkness silent river flow
And lay me down to rest for good
In time I will go when I should

She invited shock to accompany her
at the bottom of her deep hole
she dug for herself.

                                                       ­                                He did not send it.

He protested her dangerous undertaking at first
but ignorant ears give attention to no one
dig
                                                dig
                                                   ­                                                   dig
                                        only to the task ahead.

When she pauses for some air
She won’t find him there,
He gave up on her.

                                           He
                        found                     his sanity
                  beneath                             the dirt
                   she had                             thrown out
                         of her                     deep
                                        hole.

 
“HOW DARE YOU LEAVE ME!
What could I have done?!”
Only her electric veins
will be responsive.

He’s gone.

Among thee, desperation paints
Sallow cheeks and shaking palms
In the temple in which every child
Consecrates a rebirthing, rejoicing Psalm
Are the steadfast oaths of ages past
Belittled with the present ecstatic gestures?
And upon mine, my chest is pounded
In lieu of papyrus padded scriptures

He walks, the offender, through the halls
While burnt offerings are singed with frankincense
And pulls the steeple’s steel bells
In ode to the sorrowful April shower’s Lent
And finally, the King sits upon his throne
Ad clerum, to the clergy, and nods with respect
When eyed, the child burns inside a dress
Whilst he forgot to genuflect

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming age
In which thine beloved empire crumbles
And the voice of fire breathes out like winter breath
In response to those insidious mumbles
In a world where the ox and *** are slain
For charity to make light of a bleary spring
While He still whispers in my conscience
Still exists their soul in everything

Yesterday’s gravity

Pulls threads in weaved cloth
Blown and scattering waves
Massive like black holes and small
Like the wings of humming

Birds of Planck length down feathers
On a drifting radiowave
While watching the television in a
Padded

Rooms inside Schrödinger’s box
Contained by hypertension
Like the hairs that grow in fibers of
The cerebrum’s

Neurons which inflate and warp
His hands shook like the rabbit ears
On his old television, wood paneled with
Outdated

Textbooks like his shelves
And enigma is his cited source
In his teleportation box, bedridden
Things in

There are superstrings on the walls
Floating eyes on the atoms of loneliness
Quark fizz, structural quanta on
Yesterday’s gravity

Pulls threads in weaved cloth