when death comes
it will not be the patient ground
that opens up to hold us

it will not be the restless sea
that reaches out to collect us

it will be the wind
that finally takes our names
spins and shakes them apart
tossing them into infinite sparks

are you accepting of this?
are you prepared for this?

the seasons wheel away
and so must we

late to the day’s last light
seeding well beyond

these speeding windows
colors scrape unrestrained

a display
matching exactly

the leaves that still linger
with a tight fist

december clings
to such untouched things

all that is grey
will eventually give way

and deliver snow
but this we already know

when to hold on
and when to let go

all morning
the cold mists

jeweled tiny pools
upon the stubborn grass

of december
silvering

a single blade
a single strand

of a spider’s web
simply sparking the grey

of the day
away


life can be like that sometimes


obstinately one side
of the coin

one minute
then joyously the other

one secret second
later

i like most things


the green feathers
of the parrots

a thousand shingles
of autumn light

long rugs
of snow


                                              i
                                              like most things
                                              will only be here


for that pullpush
of breath

the briefest brush
of the sun

a tremble
of rain

it rained today
and what remained

of the leaves steeped
in the cold november shower

seeped
and stained

the dark
of the wet sidewalks

such
is the clutch

and release
of power

the transfer
of light

within the sky
such

is how we hurt
and heal

september now silenced
the cicadas

and a well
of wind coned

across the ocean
spitting earth

with elemental pace

meanwhile        october has stepped upon the stage
meanwhile        the flowers lean into last light
meanwhile        the sunsets whisper

the crows complain
of october rain

an autumnal fuss
they can’t sustain

ruffled
into rust

dust wind
lifted

drifts
of scraps

puddle
into piles

spill
and clutter

into corners

let us          testify            that everything is an energy
let us          agree             that kindness is a necessity
let us          embrace        the details that call light forth

red the last leaf
clipped undone

and swept
across my path

what will bend
will bend

what will break
will break

scrapescrapescrape sings
the god of all things

and then her silence says
bend

and then her silence says
break

and then her silence says

with a pale parade
of its confetti

of dead leaves
winter has arrived

i am accepting
of all seasons

each
with its bounties

and boundaries
its rewards

and regrets
in his sermon

a priest once said
that life

in the absence
of pain

would be hell

we write the sky
with worthless words

ease erased
by the wings of birds

dead leaves crack
beneath my tread

color dusting
orange gold and red

tonight the rind
of the moon

still shines
and the stars

are also playing
their parts

so do not stand there
and wring your hands

or pound your chest
or howl

at the night

feel
what surrounds you

find
your significant place

in the depth
of things

beauty is built
with the details

that rest all
around you

these last leaves
fall like coins

from a hole
in god’s pocket

this morning
the sun stood

through the mists
of the city

life vibrates
with colors

with roots
that touch

and tap


we skim the surface we quickly move on we miss the point


what is so unrecognizable
about happiness?

what is so impossible
about love?

these delicate bones               these smooth stones
of morning                              of last light

wait wet                                   vesper edged
in the grass fragile                 and meshed

a framework                           cooling and
quick brittled                          tipping

to break                                    into the soft
if not handled                         shrapnel

with care                                 of stars

the moon is a cloud




some                                     some
are rising                              are complex
and familiar                        concrete grey
white tipping                      with a heat and heaviness
off the top                            a dizzying effect
darkening briefly               that spits light and sound
to pour specificity              in an ever shifting distance





in the pale blue sky

off the cliffs
of enoshima

three hawks hunt
in circles

their shadows
shiver the pine trees

hundreds
of dragonflies

ebb
and flow

as autumn palliates
its colors

with necessary care
a literacy

of leaves weaving
above

and beyond
perfect the palette

of changing light
last night

as the sky darkened
before the rain

before the world
fell silent

my mother
has moved

from october
to november

to the same rooms
the same furniture

and the same framed photos
to the same plates

and glasses
the same clipped light

and the same taunting shadows

my mother
has moved

from october to november
where now

she sits waiting
to move closer

to december

here    hear
is (w) here

          the       the
          ear       ear
          th m    th m
          ove      ove
          s

           here    hear
is (w) here

          the       the
          cro       cro
          w&c    w&c
          ica        ica
          d ca     d ca
          all        all

           here    hear
is (w) here

           the      the
           ski       ski
           es        es
           kis       kis
           s co     s co
           lli        lli
           de       de

crisp lisps
lift leaves

brown down
the street

a tree
unsleeves

winter’s win
‘tis autumn’s defeat

cold collects
the warmth of breath

and kicks free
the final leaves

winter takes
what winter wants

and we watch
how autumn grieves

blue has cooled
the stubbled fields

trees release
their autumn yields

a brilliant coin
the moon tonight

for winter’s purse
and a silence bright

autumn leaves angle
in a scrim

of light
untangled crows lift

from wires
and ever slow the sky

to set
and retire

you are enough

for this world
to touch

what trembles
and sigh

you are enough

at night
they lock

the doors
shut off

the sun
turn off

the waterfalls
but there

just beyond
the cooling blue

of the glass
cement

and steel
the stars

breathe
so patiently

and the stone said

don’t forget
to touch

and the sun said

don’t forget
to breathe

and the rain said

don’t forget
to cry

and the ocean said

don’t forget
to scream

and the falling leaves said

don’t forget
to laugh

and the snow said

don’t forget
to sleep

i fly
through the clouds
of my mother’s lungs

untouched
by the sun
or the moon

i walk
through the forest
of my mother’s lungs

lost
in its great shadows

i swim
through the caves
of my mother’s lungs

the rising tides
drowning out
all pockets
of air

it came slowly out
of the switchgrass

and weeds
plodding

reptilian black
against the light brown dust

of the bike trail
i rode up to it

two feet long at least
from head to tail

so think skinned
and heavy

and that menace
of a mouth

we quietly eyed each other
before the snapping turtle

rambled
down the embankment

and slide
into the dark water

of the canal

we still        behold the ancient
                     gaze at the wonders of heaven
                     marvel at what the past holds up to her mirror

push
into the pelagic refractions

of cerulean
and celadon

stand
on an unknown shore

that washes the elemental
into the celestial

inner    space

             space

outer    space

a man walks towards me his arms clumsy with books

i hold the door open for him and notice that the books are gideon’s bibles

i overheard a nurse say yes i know he is dead but what was the time of death?

a priest walks briskly by past the elevator choosing to take the stairs instead

in the room across the hall from my mother’s the nurse always has to ask

sir?

do you know where you are?

you are in the hospital

the azaleas
have yielded

to the peonies
heavy

with rain
they have

in turn
bowed

to the hydrangeas
who have next

nodded
to the magnolias

such a patient parade
such a sharing

of sight
and scent

she said
i am ready

for the end
of my life

i am prepared

she found it
heavy

and wet
and struggling

to stand
in the shallows

of the creek
a fawn

not a week
or two old

the woman called
to me

from the creek
and passed

the fawn up
to me

it collapsed
on the grass

of the trail
trembling

and exhausted
it bawled

for its mother
i sat down

beside it
and dried

and warmed
its small body

of sticks
after a while

it stood
and made its way

carefully clumsily
into a thicket

of briars
and it was there

that i left it

who will find us in those first moments of life?
who will hold us in our final hour?

who will light the candle?
who will blow it out?

we wake well
in the early hours

i sit
in a steady hive

of light
where stillness

is the reward
the chipmunks rest

beside me
and care not

that i exist
a carolina wren explores

the cold ashes
in the hearth

of my brother’s backyard fireplace
never knowing

that i am sitting right here
a tiny red spider knits

between the leaves
of the hydrangeas

oblivious of me
or the machine pushing

through the blue silk
of the sky

is there any greater truth in life?
is there anything better than the industry of each day?
when you leave, will i miss you?

we walk
blossom blessed

drift petals down
pollan dusted

color coded inks
in whites and pinks

let purple and yellow yawn
the day’s lush lining of dawn

a woodpecker with its percussive no-no-no-notes
the fanfare of the ferns unfurling

when things threaten
to spin at such terrific speeds

build bright and breathe
new windows will open and say

to that which inevitably speeds away
for a single moment more

stay

twice now
i have been close enough

to smell
their sharp scent

before actually seeing them
the deer

silent still
and pulling new leaves

from the lowest branches
for minutes

they tolerated my presence
before calmly

moving down the trail
across the creek

and up the steep bank
on the other side

in time         we will trust the sun and the air
in time         we will howl our new anthem at the moon

after the rain
a red tailed hawk came

to rest
on a bough

of a tree
in my brother’s backyard

two grackles
took immediate exception

and began
to badger

the far bigger bird
weary

of the attention
or simply indifferent

the hawk eased
onto the air

and swept away
just above

my head
just beyond

my pounding heart

from a thatch
of bamboo

burst a cardinal blurred
so rushed in red

above the creek
the heron pendulumed

         back and
forth

its shadow
an old code

‘tis

the dream
that wakes us

the mystery
that makes us

the fear
that takes us

we stirred
and startled the bird

standing there in the reeds
and the still of the eddy

legs
a stealth of sticks

head
a gaveled spike

and in that briefest moment
the heron

str   etc   hed   imp   oss   ibl   e wi   ngs

feathered gravel grey and unfolding
it grabbed hold of a rope of air

its long neck collapsing perfectly into its body
a fluency of grace and speed that soon saw it well above the water

and shadowing down the sand bars and creek beds

there can be no life without          fear
there can be no life without          love

don’t forget
to unsettle

the night sky
with your stars

i sit the seed
beneath me

just now born
of a blue

never before hued
the teeth

and tongue
of it

we spin
the space

bird song
and winged

meanwhile
the infinite shrugs

her shoulders
and drifts back

to sleep

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

match strikes spark

                                                                                                               a body

skin catch kindling

                                                                                                           in flames

all smolder smoke

                                                                                                           feels like

and blister burn

                                                                                                               a body

that crackles charred

                                                                                                           in flames

black and black

there is no pleasure
in their harsh notes

even beneath the bluest skies
there is no beauty

in their flight
a frantic choreography

as if taking to the air
for the very first time

twitching
from one tree

to the next
but their color

such a giving green
and that breath of red

patched just beneath
each wing

says much
of their humor

their jocularity

will you have a look at us?
how the hell did we even get here?
and really who knew all this would be such fun?

many
are the morning ghosts

who see
what we cannot

who architect
in the broad sweeps

of things
the sky

perfectly pieced
with the sea

the waves
piling up

on the strand
how the trees

and the earth
tendril together

to weave their way
up up up

it is autumn here
where warm rain falls
instead of bright hokkaido leaves
i do not prefer one mystery to the other
as both hold equal measure

this evening
miles out at sea
ribbons of lightning shred
beneath the ribs of a thunderhead

within the hour
the storm had tiptoed off the horizon
all those around me
distracted by more mundane things
were none the wiser


but let me ask you this


when was the last time beauty
stopped you in your tracks
laughed at your silly deeds and demands?

when was the last time beauty
took in her gentle hands
and shook you all to pieces?

in the mango tree
across the street

a prattle of parrots
most evenings meet

to chew the fat
and the mango sweet

with a secret cue
they screech away

then circle back
as if to say

this was the best
part of your day