Monday, July 9, 2012

Reply to Mary

it is no wonder really
how these things are made
by stringing or stacking
old words
            filigreed arcs

is it any wonder how blades
of grass weave a yard 
you were soil would that
seem miraculous.

The Changes

lilacs erupt and splash the air             the heart sings its memory
as it gathers seeds scattered by death’s glass-gloved hand

warm air rises from thawed fields                   it corkscrews
through budding quivering trees                                 while an infant
suckles the lavender breast with the distant eye of a sun-drawn lake

the seedsong is everywhere               
of nature
opening within nature

the heart remembers these changes

it remembers that morning when the wet fog
turned another key
                                                when you woke
and she was there waiting in her sleep for you
to wake her                
how in shadow she shines.


I am a stone you hold
for a river’s secrets

glass spiders
grow in your eyes

            I worry about what else
will grow between us

starlight dies on moons
clouds              windows

your body listens to its own dying

                        snow falls not
knowing gravity or divinity

saturated in the mystery
we dissolve like time.

The Loom of Wings

in the green secret      of the maple tree
in the palms of the thousand leaf hands
is the earnest thread-making
divined through cellulose spools
of the capillary loom
sap and fiber spun
and wrapped around seed pairs

            and from each seed arches out
an eyebrow spine from which hangs
the papery filigree
of the dragonfly’s wings.


like smoke a blue heron floats
down the center of the high-walled
creek bed
                        contrived of morning fog
and sycamore sticks the heron’s opal
bumps against the heart’s teary blindness

it skims the coiling water
and fades.


broadwing lakesong spirals overhead tracing a groove
on the slate mirror of warm water                  a cotton sky
rippling in reflection
                                                the ancient seduction

                        no end to the vanishing veils

                                                            not as a
function of brain but of water                          mind as
                        musical extension of water.