Friday, November 16, 2012

Summer, and then

from "Aestivare"

                              was is the earth-shone moon?
                              that shook my hammock
                              that dawn before the birds
                              began to sings as if
                              telling me to remember
                              to look up and see
                              the white sphere of Venus
                              at its zenith
                              in the light of day

in the blackest waters
of the depth-less quarry
I lost my lover
to the Bull Frog King

what bird was it
that sent me wandering 
this orange evening?
to the edges of the hollow forest
echoing with day-fade soundings,
where spears of yellow mullein flowers
bloom in spirals by the road,
where yellow-jackets hover
by the ground, their wings displacing dust,
where I am sent chasing songs as images
that fade as dreams do 
when touched with sunlight 
with the parting of,
at dawn,     my

o field          of night

o night        of sound

come into this room

o broad darkness

lay down across me

o field         o sound

of air                 o dome

of night

o  sky of     quiet light

o field           of air

as   room   of   night

o feather by my head

that holds the sun

move        that        night

may come           may lay

its sound          as field

upon my head


the night

back now--
my mothers favorite moon
low and thin
facing away
here again from swinging 'cross the sun

                   [emerged in twilight
                    as white piercing red dusk,

                    and Saturn
                    --a shimmer beside]

the summer triangle
rising east and up,
the acute angle points
to the galactic center, behind Sagittarius

those Great Birds
[Eagle and Swan]
spring forth from early dark
and dance     /      their following

the Lyre of Orpheus
alights the sky
[its moving over; the song of summer]

from "The Ego Poems"

I, as sunlight
sometimes will,
aim for the leafs inheritance

I, with wounded foot, advance

I limp towards a dawn unwoken for

                                    on dark avenues
                                    I watch gods walk by

The Trembling Way

I sat         and rode

the winds pattern

on a feather

in golden flame

We lose our gifts as we claim their giving