I.
– bent stick in the path, ridging
the dust
where the sun
has been beating down
ten thousand hours
since last it rained
if you were a snake
I’d know
what to do
with you
tip my hat
wish you good hunting.
II.
First a red
tailed hawk
juking from
treetrunk
to tall grass
under the dark canopy
and next I, emerging, see
coyotes
flashing against the sky.
I don’t understand this world
anymore.
The tall man stood on the island
Blunt-faced, facing the wind
With his eyes as wide as a child’s eyes
And his clothes flapping about him
And the seabirds cried like ever
Just as if he were nought but a stone
And the wind rushed heedlessly by him
Till the sea rose and mothered him home
His blunt face is long since forgotten
By his people long scattered and dead
But all the same he stood there once
No matter what nobody says
(after Li Bai)
It’s spring, you say – Why are you still here?
The lichens are slowly turning
The mountain rock to new dirt,
The snowmelt is carrying the old dirt away;
Why are you still here?
I smile; my heart
Beats as slowly as the mountain’s heart.
A peach blossom, ripped from the twig
By the pummeling spring rain,
May be carried by freshet, by gully,
By stream, by river – clear to the sea, maybe;
So too me:
ripped from heaven,
Halfway to somewhere else by now.
Which is why I have no answer.
Nuisance crow
on an old fencepost:
green field behind;
brown hills in the distance;
gravel road,
deadleaf trees,
white sky,
world all around —
when did it all become
not worth a mention?
I fear my sixth decade
will make me an old man yet.
and the night hold no memories
but what we can read from it
time is not now
nor am I time’s ghost
read not by dint of a writing
since words are water
O hush of crickets mother me home
like matins like a bell
she is gone, gone to the sea
is gone to it, gone forever
and now every black shadow
seems a good place to hide
O hush and mother me home
like an awkward drum at night-time
like an empty coat
in a room full of empty coats
gigantic hush of crickets
and the moon giving no light
to see these black streets
only the intersections lit up
to see again from this height
between the crossed streets the shadows
darkness dimly lit
the moon
meanwhile all of them
are joining their way homeward
two and by two
two and by two
all are parting the cool air
O and when it closes behind them
they are come home
they are arrived
there’s always been something
sacred about a lost corner
of cracked asphalt
under the daylong sun
where absolutely nothing grows
except the sad weeds
just as I thought I heard
trumpets sound
though I was taught
the walls were long down
I noted the prophet
head cocked patient
sitting on the curb
beside the riven pavement
and knew there were still ramparts
and work for the trumpeters
from my mundane height I hear
every car on the road
every radio every satellite
how much more
does he hear sitting down there
among the holy holy weeds
Blackbird settles
on the topmost bough
and the whole tree nods
as if to say,
I see. I see how it is.
How lovely is the semblance
Eternity is come
And Past and Future gathered are
In compass of this room;
How beautiful the sleeping form
The eyes that look within
The hands that do not seek to grasp
The legs that will not run;
Though Memory’s in water writ
However still it pools
This vision having once had
I cannot bear to lose;
I shall become a student
At that patient school of art
That studies years to draw one line
Direct from eye to heart.
dreamed
I was
pursued
by 4 bears
1 was continually arriving from beyond the east
1 was striking like a hammer without any anvil
1 was in love with god who tangled him up like a vine
1 was singing like a river om om om om
by 4 bears
pursued
I was
dreamed
