the way we lose
our fathers

and mothers
out beyond the trespass

of light
where sparklers dance

the summer dark
no single language

no simple answer
the wheel

of grief
with its windquick

and intimate fists
pummels the rubble

of what remains
what fades away

and there
just beyond

the weight of it
the moment

that threatens
to touch

and take you

the hummingbird
all function

and form
impossibly winged

and ricochetting
from one cupped sun

to another
i stood my ground

and imagined the percussion
of its tiny heart

a muscle the size
of a grape seed

there it was
right before my eyes

the bird lingered
for a moment

and then nudged off
into this uncomfortable world

there is so much work
yet to be done

when life and death
sit in the same room
the eyes of the dead are left open

above the baskets of fruit
and the piles of shoes
coffins hang on walls

a cross
made of two broken branches
marks a new grave


bla   ck b   ird   s wa   tch   fro   m we   ary   wir   es


please
let me finish

this thought
this breath

this life

untethered
the rain

tapped incessantly
upon the surface

of the sea
smoothing the waves

calming the pull
of the tide


this is what love feels like


the weight
of it

the drumming
of the blood

percussive
through the corridors

flooding its way
to and from

the heart
where it hides

in quiet places

this little wrist
of sand

marks many
a morning’s search

wave worn
and shore washed

like shells
stones

or broken bits
of coral

tossed about
in tidal bows

once i woke                 certain there was no god
once i watched           a mountain lion bound the trail before me
once i walked             with venus and jupiter in the pre-dawn sky
once i was

where does such wild come from?
why does the full of the moon excite us so?
when you died, did you collect all the perfect petals?

this new morning light is not
some mask or bright new coat to slip on

it is not
a sign or signal of what once was or will soon be

these waves are not
the fingers or fists of some dark leviathan roaring forth to claim my body

they are not
glassy cylinders splintering into millions of pieces on the shore

last night’s full moon was not
a pale coin or some other currency of love or mystery

these things just are
as we are

beautifully present one moment
and gone the next

you either understand that
or you don’t

morning

spills of bird song
the persistence of a wary dog
the stars and their small hands still building

afternoon

a duet of car alarms
the siege of a dump truck
the tantrum of a neighbor‘s television
a badling of helicopter blades
a ****** of motor scooters