a family gathers
at the foot

of the grave
in the shade

of a small tree
the gravedigger rests

upon his shovel
fires burn

by the roadside
and smoke hangs

like a halo
from the schoolyard

the children sing
salvation

salvation
one day

there will be
salvation

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

after you
the birds kept
to their mysterious notes
people moved
along the canals
one moment
the sky spat rain
the very next
it was unbearably blue
fields of impossible flowers
scented the air
the tides
true to their schedules
swept in and out
the moon hung
from its thin black thread
i wander our rooms
still calling your name

after you died
we sat there

just the two of us
in complete silence

your eyes
were still open

so i stood up
reached across

your quiet body
and closed them

i held your hand
until the doctor arrived

then he and i signed
the death certificate

soon after that
two men

from the funeral parlor
took your body

my mother
your daughter

sent an email today
reminding me

that had you lived
you would have been

104

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

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

as a boy
i would

run the wind
swim the ocean

until the strand
was a pitching distant dream

i would
climb branch

after branch
until the curve

of the world
was my own

as a boy
i would think

nothing
of doing

these things
as a man

i can think
of nothing

else

astronomers
being astronomers

look through lenses
)warpedandtrembling(

to see
the u n  s   e     e      a        b        l        e         :

raw new light
still swaddled

in mists of ice
and dust

must we
                  make such attempts to measure the heavens?
we must

autumn aches
of crimson breaks
and gold mistakes
things we must
take up with rakes

boughs bend
with heavy rests

of snow
the singe

of a wing
tips powdery down

white domed stones
city the river

a fox settles
in a fetch

of aspens
when was

the last time
you stretched

your shadow
untied yourself

and waded out
into the mystery

of things?
when did you

last wake
to watch

the first push
of new snow?

his hands

two pieces of wood
gnarled worn torn
by the wind
and the rain
and the sun

his eyes

two dark marbles
of laughter
of sadness

his voice

deep
soft
ancient

i almost did not understand him

how are you this morning i asked

can’t grumble sir no sir can’t grumble

child
red

boo
ted

and    
        brilli

ant    
        laugh

        across
wet

        stones
cob

bled
         colors

fire
         light

fine
and

fall
that

         night
         white

a
         moon

         coins
the

can
als

cl    ouds
cl    imb

and pile
with a sin

                gle st  
ride

they are over
the mountains

)lighteningteethmumblethunder(

sometimes
there is release

sometimes
not

but for an open moment

                                                         we we
                                                         are are
                                                     made made
                                                           to to
                                                 notice surrender

to this world’s
only power

clouds crown
the mountains

in drifts
of grey

and white
they twist

into sticks
of lightning

mist
into whispers

of thunder
uncountable dragonflies drop

and rise
to announce

such skin
and the rain within

consider the chemistry             of time
the delicate machine                 of sunearthwindrain

the secret language                   of when
to harvest the heart                   and when

to wait

meanwhile
we remain

by the gates
straining

to catch notes
from deep

within cathedral walls

despite tender hands memories go dark
and we come to rest beneath unfamiliar moons

each church
green glassed

and steepled
will open its doors

we will all rise
to celebrate

those who have gone
before us

and those who will one day
walk us

to the bright white lights
of so many stars

dark
the morning down

where saturn jupiter
and venus

nibble
at a waning moon

where birds unseen
spit tinny notes

where light climbs
to the tip

of the rim
tripping up

into great spills
and seeping free

leaf to leaf
tree to tree

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

drunkclumsy
with the drop

of it
tap past

to gather
dulling

in the doorway
god only knows

what
un


               d            e             f           e           at           e           d
               d            e                                      at                                     h


does
with so many seams

breaking brittle by
and the sky

blue sky

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

green whisks of sea
and brooms of foam

sweep smooth the sand
of broken spokes of starfish sticks

of seaweed
and bleached sand dollars


common notes of the ocean throated by the wind


just beyond the wake of the boat
she rose grey green in the morning light

and slid beneath the dark water
she broke the surface twice more

before the boat’s pull
and her own power

put her at a distance
from me

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

growling
in the distance

dark plumes
untent

ruffling
the color

of the sea


           out
side
                 in in
side
          out


whenfearshakes
thebreathfromourlungs

whenpoisonmeasures
toomu­chintheblood

                                                          how do we
                                                                  return
                                                            to center?

                                                          how do we
                                                                  renew
                                                               beauty?

he sweeps
the dead

leaves
into little piles

it is a simple task
but he is very old

and this light labor
exhausts him

) side                              to                                             side(
          ( in h is h and s )     ( a b am b oo m broo m )

what will you do
with your string

of time?
the slow notes

of motion
the blood-red bells

of heartbeat?
how will you measure

the fire
and surprise

of silence?

hovering
between two languages

light’s decay
must choose

its words
carefully

growling
in the distance

dark plumes
ruffle

the color
of the sea

out       side         in         in         side        out

when fear shakes
the breath from our lungs

when poison measures
too much

in the blood
how do we

return to center?
how do we

renew beauty?

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

i do not believe
in ghosts

but i am cordial to them nonetheless

i do not believe
in god

but from time to time i wonder how she is doing

i do not believe
in heaven

but i am curious as to what might be on the other side of this door

i do not believe
in hell

but just in case i mind my manners

i do not believe
in the beatles

well actually i do and they are definitely better than the rolling stones

i do not believe
in ghosts

but i am cordial to them nonetheless

i do not believe
in god

but from time to time i wonder how she is doing

i do not believe
in heaven

but i am curious as to what might be on the either side of this door

i do not believe
in the hell

but just in case i mind my manners

i do not believe
in the beatles

well actually i do and they are definitely better than the rolling stones

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

i have never witnessed their dawn departures
or joined in their preparations

what the taste of wind might tell
what clues the clouds or the sea reveal

but each time i wake and notice the boat gone
i keep an anxious eye to the horizon

i have watched their return enough times to now know
how to position the heavy plastic tubes in the wet sand

how to hold the bow perpendicular to the shore
to the keep the waves from washing in

where to place my hands
and the exact angle needed to lift and leverage the boat

rolling it onto the tubes
and then up the sharp incline of the beach

i have learned
how to help

so much so that two of the pescadores
now smile clap me on the back

and say
la próxima vez que vengas con nosotros

inbe      t      ween
here      t       here

con(dis)
(so)so
nance(nance)

what we love
what we do not

under stand
stand under

tangled in so many strings crow black in color comfort chaos

are always are always
options
d i  s   s    o      l       v        i          n           g

in
new
light

in the corn
                   er of

an autumn field
i found

the body
of a fox

(it was the kind of storm all weathermen wait for)
)repetitious ripples of dappleddoppler(
(within an hour all was scoured whitesmooth and silent)

spring will
un

     lock
the land

open
the body

in the early hours
when you

set
upon a quiet house

now the morning
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

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

in the end)

time& tide                 salt water
whisper                     stars upon
all away                     the skin

blood& bone             the order
bubble                        of things
with lifelight             the mystery  
                                    of things


a moon white silent


in the dark closet of dreams
shape & shadow speak in tongues chanting
we gather the ghost slow the circles
we ember around the sun

i am                                        alone
i am                 not                 alone

(in the beginning

in the evening


we breathed blue
a spectacle
of heaven reckless
the violence
of light
sticks
and stones
from the deepest room

                                 we wake to the wonder that wears us

from the ancient strand
keys
and locks
the pendulum
of planets
of time stretching
a sorrow
we seethed green


in the morning

in the fields
the hay

has been cut
and dried

the final sunflowers list
and fade

to the west
a line

of aspen trees
sigh

at the touch
of october light

two crows
call out

and hold their own
against the hawk

how will you journey
out of this life?

how will you find
that brief dark door?

what will your music
sound like?

in the little
of the morning

red flag raised
and sounding

the air
cool moving

through
the trees

unsettles
loose leaves

the horizon
slides closer

stitched black
with lightening

bruised blue
with pummels

of thunder
first drops

blink dark
the dry ground

haloing
in the sand

before the world
shrieks

and sighs

in the little
of the morning

red flags
are already raised

the sounding wind moves
through the trees

unsettling
loose leaves

the horizon slides darker
stitched black

with lightning
bruised blue

with pummels
of thunder

first drops blink
on the dry ground

haloing
in the sand

all this
just before

the world
shrieks

and sighs