the rain
with its Round words

said nothing
quiEt were the grey sheets

of the sky
the new green

of trees
the many bells

of this town
kept sIlent

even the wind
wholly wild

held its toNgue
but still we knew

(deathhyouareadarkandfunnydoor)

steep the stone
the gentle folding

of blood
and bone

remain here
and help her home

                                                                                     she will have her way

the rains
have returned

as have the parrots
that now riot down

these evening streets
this morning

a hummingbird
ash grey

and the size
of child’s thumb

floated
between the flowerless branches

of a tree
              slowly

things have found
their way back

into focus
into some semblance

of routine
and order

but small cracks
remain

open invitations
for grief

to come
galloping back

                          did you really think you would be rid of me so easily?
                                                          that this would last only a moment?
        who do you think it has been filling your dreams with shadows?

the rains
have returned

as have the parrots
that riot down

the evening streets
this morning

a hummingbird
ash grey

and the size
of a child’s thumb

floating between
the branches

of a flowerless tree
slowly

things have found
their way back

into focus
into some semblance

of routine
and order

but small cracks
and fissures remain

open invitations
for grief

to come
galloping back

(did you really think you would be rid of me so easily?)

(that this would last only a moment?)

(who do you think has been filling your dreams with shadows?)

there
is a garden

where
fifteen rocks rest

in perfect swirls
of white pebbles

there
is a garden

where
fifteen rocks rest

and this
is what

they say

there
there it is

that clip of wind
a smoother edge to the air

the braided fade the sky now holds
the ginko nuts are beginning to fall

their yellow leaves will soon follow
there is a silence to the stones

a quiet to the clouds
the birds sense it

and theirs is now a new arrangement of music
colors slowly carousel into corners

the clock has turned
and returned everything

there are days dark

pockets filled with pebbles
and worries

nights marked
with restless dreams

sometimes

the clouds
hold no clues

sometimes

the rain is filled
with riddles

then
a new light

then
the sky blue sky

then
you can see
and feel
for miles

there are days that are not easy

moments tethered to exhaustion and preoccupation

music muted within thick walls of gray

there are starless nights

stones that cannot seem to be moved


then new light arrives


the air cools to an easy breath

the delicate electricity that shakes the heart becomes weightless with wonder

the heaviness of what just was flashes and falls away

like the underwing of a red hawk passing beneath the soul of the sun

there are moments
when the rain bells

and pebbles
against the window

when the moon lifts
like the ocean’s only coin

we move
roomtoroom boxtobox

we move
dusttodust

should any heaven hold
both sea and sky

my mother
shall have one

my father
the other

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

there is a light

there it is again

i reach for it

and hope it holds

it does

and i begin to walk my way out

of the darkness

there is a line
between

the songs
of love

and the songs
of grief


this is what the silence said


there is a line  
into out of

the horizon
of earth

and sea
and sky


this is what the silence did

si lence of snow

the for the how

be said ghosts un

too much so fold

There is slow ly.

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 this would such fun?

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?

the river
wrapped in a coat
of cold grey stones

slides
its icy lines down
through the mountains

the trees
long leafless
and now heavy with snow

are ever patient
for the moon’s return

this is the season
we grow old

this is the reason
we grow young

the river knows
as does the grey

of the rain
the dark windows

of the church know
and the confetti

of leaves wet
upon the cobblestones

he isgone

to ng ue ti pp ed      
                               in to the            
                                              in fi ni te

heis gone

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

these days paint gray
each frame of film

dulled steel drains all color
from the sky

slate scrapes the skin raw
for what winter will wear

but wait
what was that just there?

did you see it?
the very tip of that cumulus kindled

a single note
of ignition and possibility

so take a deep breath
and remember

if you keep your heart open
something beautiful will step inside

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

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?

the soul
belongs
to the whole

the sun strikes
the first october notes

and embers
everything into color

the wind unravels
the leaves

they spin
and crackle within

soon
all will be raked grey

as winter waits
a world away

the tap
and snap of it

shattering the many sides
of the sky

light so tightly twined
and tinted
  
bends along the edge
of autumn fields

early wreaths
of redyellow

on long strings untied
no hint in the wind

no clues hidden
in the clouds

slowly turned
we cross the day unmade

with one last breath
before we wake

the trees
the powerlines

and the crows
are all silhouetted

stone heavy
and tethered gray

we pull ourselves along
seeking the sun

or the stars
do you ever miss

your wild life?
washed in light

and rinsed in wind?
don’t you wish

to hear your name
whispered once more

in the crashing waves?

the voices in the leaves said
let us rest

we are weary
our bones are brittle

our skin fragile
let us gather here

for just a moment
to catch our breath

before the wind wakes
and casts us along

scratching
patternless

and disintegrating

the washes
of wildflowers

sway in secret rhythms
the tiny white buttons

of butterflies dance
a chaotic ballet

the stones stand
in the field

sun warmed
and singing ancient songs

when dark demands
present themselves

when the inevitable heaviness of life
hovers above us

and is whining in our ear
take a moment

to measure the music
within you

there rests
the answers to doubt

there resides
the remedy to grief

the way
we lose

our mothers
and fathers

out beyond
the trespass

of light
sparklers dancing

the summer dark
no single language

no simple answer
within intimate twists

the wheel of grief
windquick fists

pummeling 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 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 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

they still
                 comb the beaches
                 for bones

they still
                 light sticks
                 of incense  

they still
                 remember

this final cable
of autumn

heavily fettered
in thick leafspit

and bit pieces
of dented crowns

drags along the ground
knocking

about the stalks
and stems

we speed
through life

with all its tiny gifts
all its tiny deaths

we dig
in the dirt

gaze
at the untrimmable dusk

until the lights go out
until they come back on

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 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 that there was no god

once
i watched

a mountain lion bound the trail before me

once
i walked

with venus and jupiter clear in the pre-dawn sky

once
i was

where does
such wild come from?

why does
the full white 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 a bright new coat to slip on
it is not a sign
or signal
of what was once
or will soon be

these waves are not
the fingers
of some dark leviathan
roaring forth
for my body
or soul
they are not
glassy cylinders
shattering into millions
of pieces on the shore

last night’s moon
was neither a pale coin
nor 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 do not

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

this scar
of rock

unsettles
the sea

as the sea
is flesh

and perfect
and so we came

to the skelligs
baptized

in salt
and spray

to climb
each stone step

and stand
before the wind

listening
to the voices

of our prayers

through the night
the snow fell in a silent soliloquy

when the angles and eaves
could no longer sustain it

it rolled off the roof in rumbles
crumpling in chunks

the snow glowed
with blue denseness

trees heavy
with the white of it

boughs heavy
with the weight of it

all morning
we poked with sticks

releasing the branches
in great gusts

of dust
when gathered in grace

we place
our hands together to share

a single word
a single prayer

amen

‘tis

the dream
that wakes us

the mystery
that makes us

the fear
that takes us

fr      sb     so     er     yt     wa
om   ir      ma   en     hu    y
hi     ds     ny    ot     sr
sb    se      wo   fo     un
ed    ar      rd    ro     st
he    ch     st      ne    he
wa   in     ha     mo   wo
tc     gf     tw     re     rl
he    or     ew    da    da

today
the children asked
about the hollow bones
of birds
how long
it takes lava
to cool
through the din
and chaos
we brave
the rain
howl
at the moon
we crawl
through the mud
clutching
at mad relics
searching for clues
all this
to retravel roads
all this
to begin again

tokyo holds
tightly then slowly unfolds

its maple reds and ginko golds
well into the december colds

the crows of sapporo
so

easy through the falling snow
call out the truths we already know

(to nien cheng)

to the shudder
and split

of skin
the rip

of breath
the wet

wings
folding un

folding
in a bloodrush

of color
the first pull

onto the air
the first rise

into the notes
only you can hear


                                             touch tongue to

                                                   each cup
                                                 each chalice
                                              each open hand
                                                     of god


what urged you
from your church?

what inspired the wind
to wake you?

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

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

two sat
too to

           gether
upon a rock

kisslicked
and smooth

by the passing river
a green-eyed horsefly

on
and around

his knee
her tongue

in
and around

his ear
he could not

decide
which was more

annoying