morning tapped
the window

go see
what night has left you

                                                       (along the strand
                                                   waves in bright sways)
                                                     )pitched salty sparks
                                                      in pounding sprays(

do not
always choose comfort

or seek the familiar
it is fine

to ignore routine
to hold hands

with spontaneity
to wake

from a sleep
undreaming

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

deep in the dark dirt
the trees with autumnal mystery

whisper chemical words
touch and tap out rooted codes

they dust and vibrate ancient texts upon the wind
it is decided

this is to be a mast year
chestnuts acorns pinecones

pop and pepper the ground
they puddle in surprising abundance

the squirrels are certainly happy
the chipmunks too

do they understand what the trees discussed?
do they share that language?

are they allowed a voice?
we kick

and fidget
at the first beat

of the heart
and are born

to build
what will only

one day fall apart

october brings the first snow
to the mountains

frost frames the leaves
all is set to tumble

tonight the moon
was charged and fully bloomed

even in my busy ways
it made me pause

what is it about this month
that stirs me so?

what is it about this season
that tears me apart

only to make me whole?

full moon abandons
over fields of snow

silent trees measure
what we already know

we wait in wonder
a lifetime ago

the mechanics
of the invisible

circle slowly
upon themselves

petals pressing
ever tighter

losing light
but gaining strength  

we watch
and wonder

testing the heavy air
so cautious

with it all
things thorned

and what
of the unseen?

do they come
to rest

in dust covered boxes
up there

on the top shelf
waiting?

arc the air
and sigh

into darkness
what was

once
is now

             gone

]and so grinds grief[

]the very pit of it[

]the incessance[

and there will come a day
to shake down stars
and rediscover

and there will come a day
to push sorrow aside
and wake wanting

but not today
and certainly
not now

dead
leaves crowd corners
and doorways
wind kicked
and twisted
as we are
down sidewalks

stone steps
let confetti fly
into gutters
and scatter
upon the canals
dappled
as we are
with decay
moted notes
of yellowbrown

when i am old and     move slowly from window to window
when I am old and     my loves have all been collected
when I am old and     each season stuns me

i will wake
every morning
place my feet
on the floor
and breathe
for the first time

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?

my mother veiled
in black

sat in her favorite chair
with her hands folded

over her rosery
she reached up

touched my face
and whispered

you look thin

such is grief
that bottomless reserve

that endlessly open wound
the pain  

has faded greatly
but its barbs
  
still live
with potency

and surprise  
they still dwell

in the dark corners
of dreams

in the secret places
of the heart

grey tore
at the shore

and whitecapped
each wave

save
for the few

that tapped
my shoe

each gull
bentwinged dull

feathered sang of the sea
and of you

to me

these
are braided days

leaves delicate
weaves

of last color
quick ribbons

of snow
tangled

through the grey fingers
of trees

and tie themselves
to me

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?

i am humbled
by calder’s wires

by the music
miles monk

and mingus made
by the impastos

of van gogh
and van rysselberghe

by rodin’s
le secret

listen

the snow pillows
upon the pines

listen

the river breathes
across summer stones

it is all
one tongue
one language

there is
a reason
for this

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

wind kicked
the litterleaf
(greengrown gold)

in coughs
of color
beneath our feet

we watched
the late sky
(blueblown grey)

ember into lastlight
into the breathwhite
of waiting winter

october is my youngest month
i fly a thousand kites of color

i fill the sky in great spills of paint
i breathe as if for the very first time

my child heart beats in time
with the wings of birds now arrowing south

my hands dig deeply into the open pumpkin
and my soul glows like a votive candle

pushing light gently out

when life
and death

sit
in the same room

the eyes
of the unbaptized

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

moon
to moon

we dance the seasons through

sun
to sun

we run the shadows

dream
to dream

who is not terrified of the lightning and thunder?

after the rain the weeds
green

and peeking
wiggle their way between

the stones
and gravel

push their way
through the dark of the dirt

expanding in the morning light
we circle

and swirl in our systems
we wait the weather

ever mindful of the bumps
and jags that seek

to knock us off our line
we pray through the paces

so careful of the roots
that hold us

and keep us in place

it is my first full moon in leiden
and the chambers of rain have stayed away

the black tanks of the canals are covered with a different skin
they whisper a different oath of light

thick with silver and uncatchable
often times it is just beyond the breaking of the waves

or tucked away in some cobwebbed corner
but it is always there right before us

that dangling fragment of mystery
that single note of light that can change everything

and if we wait and are patient enough
we will come to understand that it is not ours to hold

or own
but ours to always look for

winds trespass
and stand

still

clouds tower
grey and

spill

bough flower
drink their

fill

sakura crocus
&

daffodil

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

lightning silhouettes
the midnight hills

men seed the ground
with nameless bones

fill the common graves
with rage

without question
the earth will take it all

without hesitation
the rain will wash it all

is there a more potent flower than sorrow?
is there a greater mystery than grief?
is there a singular and possible way to the speed the dawn?

stirring my silence
with a spoon
i discovered this

deeper down
i found
different shapes
and colors

rinsing each
in the sink
i placed them
on the counter
to dry

later i rearranged
them slightly
and made this

the winter fields
are thickly quilted
  
in snow
and the crows

call cold
their messages

a bold blue sky
tugs the sun

to a quick exit
last night

i saw
mother moon

floating 
in the trees

last night  
i heard

the stars
calling out

across the darkness

untethered
the rain

taps 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 blood

percussive
through the corridors

flooding its way
to and from

the heart
where it hides

in quiet places

sunday wakes in the center of the city
black lives matter plaza begins to stir with each bus offering more and more humanity
a homeless man stops to pick up a used cigarette from the sidewalk
he blows on it, places it gently in his pocket, and walks on

at the st regis hotel, i sit behind a 12 paned floor to ceiling window
it is framed in dark beautiful wood and curtained in heavy red velvet
i am waiting to have breakfast with my uncle
he is half blind with macular degeneration and his leukemia and prostate cancer are in remission
he is always well dressed and punctual
over $33.00 plates of scrambled eggs and smoked bacon, we discuss the past, the present, and the future
my uncle filters life through the signs of the zodiac and is always curious about birth dates and character traits
i keep my opinion about such things to myself

in the corner of my brother’s front yard stands a magnolia tree
its trunk and boughs are coated in pale green lichen
its crooked branches steadily offer baseball sized white blossoms of impossible perfume
all are too high for my reach
there is a large rock just beside the trunk that makes for a fine bench and from time to time i sneak away and sit there
such trees offer much in the way of ancientness and wisdom and I glean what i can

my uncle holds truth in the charts of stars
i in the trees

perhaps we are both crazy

great mechanical animals wake
and warm to the new light  

giant silver birds roar the sky
and pull above the cold grey of it

the final clip of the moon
is pushed aside by the rising sun

a crow kicks the snow free from the needles
and dusts down the pine boughs

at dusk just below the tree line
deer by the dozen hunger for spring

it is without question or concern
that night moves quietly into place

we keep in motion
across the known
the unknown

we work the beauty
bountiful
and unfinished

there have always been
great stretches

of silence
eventually

the arrival
and departure

of possibilities
seep slowly in

something
that glows

into focus
steady

and strong enough
gently forming

and holding its pose
for a moment

or two
constantly repeating

the same message

yes
here is the thought

yes
here are the words

more
is the occasion

than not
but less than before

washed up on the shore
relics of shells

broken sea bells
that crescent the strand

cloudy brown or green or white
that gentle rub of decay

or whatever might
seek display

jeweling the sand
i keep to myself

jarred away
on a shelf

september has snapped
perfectly into place

the cool of the air
the linger of light

the ants have slowed their workload
the cicadas have grown silent

a brown squirrel happily hurries past
an acorn in its mouth

when death comes for me
i would like to think

that i will not lock the door
draw the curtains

and secret myself beneath the bed in the guest room
when life came for me

i did not run and hide
and look how all that turned out?

the bald woman
with one breast

ran from the room
the jasmine scented ice scooped

upon the hot stones
proving too much

for her repairing senses
through the glass doors

of the sauna
we watched her

shaking her head
from side to side

holding the wall
for support

after a few minutes
she returned

the final bucket
of ice

was scented
with lemongrass

the bald woman
with one breast

closed her eyes
welcomed the heat

and whispered
yes

in the early hours
when you

left our bed
to set upon

a quiet house
now

the sky
cracked

and screaming
now

the weight
of so many words

now
the smudge

the sun makes
and when

at last
we catch cathedral

let us
release you

to a bolt
of blue sky

i did not know the word for it
so i called out to the man

who was approaching with his dog
sumimasen abunai onigaishimasu

it was

green
be
yond
green
grace
ful
be
yond
grace
ful
per
fect
be
­yond
per
fect

i felt no fear
as the snake moved toward me

beside me
i walked with it

and saw it to the hole in the gutter
it climbed down calmly and went on its way

i still look for it
but have not seen it since

i fear something in this world
found it

and did not understand
such beauty

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