To Deceive the Hours of Folly

everflaming
everrising
everhungering
everfull

everfalling
everfarther
all the feathers
rioting in the wind

the cold wind, &
the water,
rippling on the shore,
and the moon
disappearing in the
trembling lashes of
the woods,
the woods,
everflaming
everrising
fingertips opening
in the night

white letters on
black stone:
to be alone,
to be alone.

bright pink: the Sphynx
something tapping
on the night,
the night
astir:
hovering near
the little black cat:
not that
not that.

nighttime,
to the nighttime,
would also appear
a stranger.

but the mist carries on--
and every step seems
already traced in pale light,
leading to the door.
i walk in and lay
with the rain
on the floor.

to be not alone here,
to be not alone here --
with the rain, the mumbling,
and the floor --
and the sea growing
sunlight on the shore.
(one long string of
drool from the mouth of
eternity)

-- caught in kisses
and pulled forevermore
apart with the waves (the
rioting waves & freckled face
of the sky. stars abide & i wonder
if i am
here or departed --

the ghost by the edge
of the room would fall off the
world if it could
sink / not
rise.

Pale Eyes,
you’ve kept secrets from
your secrets;
Pale Eyes,
divide your visions among
all that you see;
Pale Eyes,
is that thee?
Pale Eyes, carrying you
away from me.

i slept by the door this morning
and the rain fled my dreams
and washed the dust from the floor.
grinning sky, have you any more?

the band’s playing
loud now,
paeans to mercy, patience
peace & soul --
and we’re tumbling
with the tune,
we’re
falling over
ourselves
we’re
very very
well,
skipping rope
as we are
with the laughin’
hereafter,
that wild and
invisible cheek
we all delight

to color rosy red
(but O soft
& tangible ghost of
no color,
if you could paint
my skin for a minute,
what squawking majesty
of yours would i
forget?)
it is better --
chopped wood
& tongs in the fire,
pulling out heaven’s dagger,
& seeing how it
catches the light --
how it rends
your sight most
incomplete --

how it stays buried--
a word among words
in passion’s flashing play,
smallest glint/
glimmer of the
day within the
day --

Hallelujah
it says with a soldier’s cry
from the center of
the fray

Hallelujah
with the bright blue
birth, as the pages
they burst

Hallelujah
for all the
gallow & dearth
and the spinning gyre of
all things go,
all things that go,
and rocking back & forth,
how we moan

(and the hazing caves
and the gold tone)

and the birds my god how
the birds have flown
(Hallelujah!
Hallelujah!

the turgid crop of
new wheat sown)

‘neath the needle,
branch,
and pinecone --

from all the light has shone,
from all it welcomes
you home.

 

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