I saw the  heavy angel of the bell
And heard his plainsong clear.
The length of fleshy life he showed to me.

I walked away and all steps were bell-notes
Telling me a silent truth of in and out.
Clapping hands that followed, filling

All the valleys of my mind with mother joy:
A grace and blessing of no thoughts
Just ringing life and clouds and air.

A fear of warm false certainly of tiny mind built days.
- Let me climb me out of me -

A wooden rule - dead measure of my time to leaving cold.
- Listen to the gusts of now -

Books take their second life as rooting trees entangling my thoughts.
- I find a space of me to fly a little -
It's all I need.

In some ways I like your silence. The rainy skies
Of days and paces felt more clearly, closely,
Keenly.  Although my blinded snail horn hope recoils
At touching nothing, you are still there:
Gaining me the world in higher pitch of sight.


So I more readily accept the poorly pins,
Tacking stitches, bits of tape of self
With which - for now - the falling hems
Of finery or rags are held,
As we craft our strut or shuffle through a life.


Till Sunday-weary of all the spiralling conspiracy
Of selves and shells.  We stop. Finally.
Naked, cherished, and accepted all for all.

This morning's rumbling train from Heaven sent:
Now words are my salvation.

A tightness in the mind, the waist.
But also freedom of a voice to say I care.

For many faces near, but known not kin.
Their contrasts trace a line of thought
To you.

New smoothness of a plastic place
Rough words do good to shake, to shake -
And give the world a grain again.

I cannot find nor want to yet,  our
Dwelling in an archived hall of thought
However sweet.

No - I will seek for now, and to the end -
The always newfound world
Of any two that find a voice.
And meet.

Need you away.
Pure, like scour wind through skeletal hedges
Stark upon a skylined field.  No leaves.
Gone.

Want no shelter.
Want no easy sooth. The words themselves
Are blown: Beside the point. Always
To exasperate by nearness,  not
Quite near enough. So go.

Footfalls in a street of light. A
Wondering.  A slowing to the pace
Of searching for beyond - beyond
The gated places. All such places
Come to grief.  

But grief as leaving, grief as seeing.
Grief as necessary arcs in rainy skies:
To help you wonder
Help you see.

The shadow of action covers you
As a brightness creeps across the world.
Your hair a forgotten pointing
As the stride to battle stirs.

Not now the toys of words.
The smell of belted metal purpose
In your hand. Fly to find a man
To enter and to ****.

The green, the brown the folded
Cold of stiff cloth will warm soon
Against you. How soon cold
Again? No matter. Off you go.