UN/IMAGING/EARTH



"to an earth beyond prose"
                           -P. INMAN






~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~







BOOK 1 ::: ORBITAL TEXTS







~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

in the asylum of dissonants
          the crumbled light
          an island; a hole
          the haggard echo
of evenings
an everlastingness of word-ghosts
          abstracted flesh
          lodged in fissures
          between the pages

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 in telescoping rooms     voices of flesh
  enbalmed with snow and mist
  thoughts of sleep in gorgon darkness
  heavy semen of stars and humus
  at the cusp of ash and glass
  tomb of her hair   her silences
  in the dusk   drenched in opals
  in cold orange roses
  she paints a cross of weeds
  on the wall   with the blood of thrushes
  a spike of ice through her breast
  bones of wind   web of tears
  all myths destroyed
  faith only in bark and fur
  as if only my words existed

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

when everything is wet silver
the earls of silence and moonlight
to turn their eyes yellow and round
as the poison berries of October
paint their fingers red
and eat the earthworms found closest
to the last cricket heard singing
in the deepest corner of autumn

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

dark ravings of the wind
underground
pools of watered steel
the final hermitage
windows within windows
looking out
into the star-mouths
of winter grubs
black clock
hands in the gulf
descending feet first
into red clouds
no lamps
no shepherds
no word for home
in this language

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a handful of gold sky
leaving our eyes
thrown back into
the abyss of images
water called up from deep
in stone and cherry roots
by the mouths of elves
the singing kiss of tree frogs
falling from the mist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

your words         dark lanterns
wandering     tunnels of stone
just beneath the day
when I open them
I see light on dead thistles
November     uncovering scarlet masses
behind the somber incantations
of powdered glass and hematite

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

here
red weeds in the snow
in the black
ice-mines
of
Pluto
we dream
of
pine moss
paths
seances
with golden
trees
another life
years of sleep

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a wintry stone speech
a tumor dropped from the crow's throat
a talismanic bridge
                  from her fingertips
                  the sweetness of honeysuckle
                  at the edge of sleet

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I open the back door
to smell the late autumn air
a warm damp gush
embedded with a cricket's song
the town glitters red and white
just out of focus
I dig
the moon out
of a clay sky
chimes are faint
in the roaring
sound of death
walking
in glass shoes

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

we are in a deeply mysterious place
of rivers, wind and stars
there is always the scent of dead leaves
in the air
for a thousand afternoons
we watch an insect climb
the trunk of an ancient tree
we are surrounded by strange objects
whose use we no longer know
an entity of darkness enters the house
we have come from far away
we have no reason to be here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

silent crow     silver ravines
cemeterial music of the rivers
a sound in the hills miles away
the gates of the wind
crashing
into the pillared   sun
brief kingdom
of
embraces

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        my hands alone in space
at rest on a round stone table
in this trance of December's
cubicle of white weeks
you call
"the evening ruby has
 returned"
my hands alone in ice
and acids
my eyes in a corner of the yard
watching you
call

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the soul of the owl has flown
from these ghost windows
I have seen you out there turning grey, your feathers full
of the breath of this starting place:
where the egg in darkness throbs we are launched from our
eyes through alchemical sicknesses,
the wind pulls us into gulfs of waiting and erases each day
until our gutturals lull us into a metallic sleep
behind the moon     beyond totality
we reach forever
for the earth

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the unheard of
a migration of owls
a gathering of suicides
the air glimmering with redbrown wings
here we begin the
journey
into unforetold visions
nothing knows us
we will kiss the moss
and be changed
into underground caves
inhabited by creatures the glow like the water we drank
the color of Saturn

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The desk in winter watches
the redbellied woodpecker feed
memories of other winters rise
blue smoke of ashwood to the
throat of the sky splintered
croaks caught in the exhalations
from snow pores a silence I can
only imagine as once existing
in prehistoric imagery filled
with sounds and hues beyond
conception that will never be
again

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drinking coffee slowly in the
sunlight of an afternoon in
December seeking out the
languages of my own dream
world not Atlantis not
Zothique but Cimmeria her
pearlled nights inexplicably
baroque configurations where
the eyes are crystalline
adornments set in clouds
of flesh constant rain of
color through darkness
symbols in the sky that
provoke the glands that
receive pleasure only
transparent touches from
the fingers of Beauty
that fold around an
enveloping globe of
scarlet orgasms

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ensorcelled flesh caught
in maenad nets the eyes turn
around and around and the
vision is never the same
the meaning of permutations
wrought in fire become
necklaces of poisonous
jewels the words fall as
dead winter wrens
in a forest of fairy tale
sleep

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you can hear me you will
not see me what you read is
who I am a blue racer gone
before you I have already
spoken too much it is time
for cobwebs to calcify the
mucus to harden into a
cinnabar throat to sound
a voice as distant as a
computer humming deep
in Martian sands and still
emitting a signal a faint
call to any moon or face
for time or water

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The third eye closes and awakens
in a spectral snowscape I dream
of white thrushes nesting in rubies
beneath a circle of blue suns
at the beginning of all streams
where life runs out in a bitter
blessing of words in the dark
half-utterances of marrow in the
ice-glare of psychic shadows a
brief rapture before the sphere
ruptures into gold paintings of
hemlocks at dusk in the place
of dead owls and black taper-
fingers frozen in their imagined
memories of a warm stillness
swathed in earth-gossamers
a haunted spring filled with
the erotic cries of bluebells

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hermit's call into the
Abyss doesnot echo but
recedes as a deep emerald
gleam the remembrance of
a sun in a snowdrift a
ship disappearing into
the mouth of an eagle
his voice looks back at
him a rectangle of blue
ice hanging in space
the body of infinity
steaming as in winter
when flesh seduces the
air a dripping fruit split
open and swarming with
golden wasps the call is
his cell the structure
in which he hides a
white chysalis waiting
for his lips to form to
become the last garden
in his map-fragments
amongst the grave
whispers of violets
that have turned to
glass in his hands

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the moon of the succubus
fills the ice-prints of naked
feet with sexual liquids hatched
in the iron-grey cavities of
thighs dissolving beneath the
skin of trees whose prescence
retrieves signals interpreted
as arcane or archaic as distances
are inseperable the crimson
larva-shape which might be from
a comet a billion light years
away or from the deepest canyons
of time where streams run pink
in silence between walls of
pink stone

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sensation is obliteration
a suicide repeated endlessly
for its studied elegance and
stimulus a rose of hot glass
distilled crystal of sugar fed
into a vein that syntax of blood
tattooed on her throat liquifies
amber and jets from the meat
chamber into a mouth of ether
a cataract from meteors seen
too often in states of extreme
contemplation when the sun
becomes a hole which is the
eye that swells each crater
blind with a narcotic pus
eaten with concave fingers
by the priest of the Cyclops
cloistered in robes of steel
and soft voices

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beyond the walls the white
craters wait for any passing
wayfarer an astral mind lost
outside the body and swallowed.
into a cave of dreams so rich
it is impossible to turn back
to the anguished cries called
flesh the walls are made of
music and once passed through
the spirit fans out into a
million shafts of gold shifts
and splinters of marble notes
and then the craters appear
in a landscape of their own
visibility is infinite

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

her corpselike stillness lights
the narrow earth-tunnels
in my breath
I carry her
to the far reaches
of each moment
the sky turns over
emptying my hands
of the precious

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

in clear moonlight drinking
the air on streets of crystal
parallel and simultaneous lifetimes broken
in galaxies of mirrors
as an emperor in murex
and heliotrope
I wall the hours in gold
I take the lushness on my tongue
the whole velvet universe
crushed in my hand

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

unslaked     symbols still emerging
from a childhood
still   in magic communication
with gold-leafed   ruby-brained
woodland beings
newts and mushrooms
keeping my life
in the pine shadows

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

every
other word
gone
space   filling with
a crow-voice  never
heard before
Indian summer memories
nectar of oblivion
oozing air and light
honey of last days
overcome by wave-sheens of frost
bleak melody of bridges
hypnotized by frozen light pools
at our feet
the small round images
of
our faces
on the moon-surface
fields of snow   reaching
toward a transparent sea

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 one
 million years
 per second
 refusing warmth
 fevered yellow
 gauze of darkness
 an addiction
 to
 solitude
 a reading
 an erasure   touched
 by white
 lips
fades to pale red
dreamed
by
the winter grasses
partially
dissolved in the
mouth

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A long time ago
we were water
then we were
sleep
           autumnfeathered hours
in the music of pink and violet
moons
Now   we are permanent
   lightning
behind the stars
                mist of the world
hypermirror        of galaxies
             faint murmurs at ground, level
engulf our heads
                  the night-silver
mimosa breezes
                from chrome-green rivers
the deepest pulse      imagineable
                  mask
of the earthworm

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In those pink places     shuddering
     where Time stood up     with limbs
that caused sunsets     to happen
              repeatedly        through
the night                    her face
was stripped      to contours      of radiant
    nerves      after eruptions         into
steam      became the pool          of her
        I slept in
Then     living     was a shiver
    a shimmer       of haloed seasons
between glass streets       where snails
     etched      the syllables      one
at a time     until            a thousand years
     told the tale             of a single
line                        ----__-_-----_------
Living       was a seamless           enclosure
       where spectral vessels    of the
sun's thrown arcs                draped the summer
afternoon       in robes of star-tissue
still reverberant of flesh     in the hot grasses
Singing was about beauty then

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


 

BOOK 2 ::: TONGUES OF ASTER








~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the forced entry
     into each day
madness of robins
warlock trees
         thrashing
the raging black sun
on the planet
      made of language
there is no rescue or
reversal           only
the shifting forward
propelled at the edge of the last transmissions
into the starshaped
streets   of lunar
cities

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

all days thrushed in,irridescent gold
on the forest floor a poison moon
momentary violet at the wind station
crossed water angles and planes of mirrored green
your body   my childhood   calling behind a copper light
filling the pines beneath the years
I reach for the heavy ore that reveals
the lone orb   breath-etched transparencies
remain                                  vanishing
circles of cut-blue                revolving
lamps                       of the failed spells
word-deep in another sun

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you     green heron   . hatched from my
eyes     in that hour of stillness     more
fleeting than stone
you     the evening that was    an infinite
comb of caves     from which a     white honey
flowered
you     who caught me     in the sound webs
of your breath     when I fell back from
earth     into the salt forests of my birth
you     not space     not time     nothing but
the dream     in which we drown     long before
we have the chance     to taste anything
but the dark injections     of storms
you     bathed in lightning     brilliant
and prehistoric     once flew     from the sun
onto the glass-lace balcony     of my
arms     above the sky-fall     of the
scarlet sea-bed     the miniature city
of each star     longing to return     to itself
you     projected over and over     against
the future of imagery     thrust into trees
watched by ancient eagles     by the name
of every lake and mountain     euphonic
in the caught hollows of eft-hands     that
weave you     into its land     of water-lyrics
marbling into moss     my tongue deep
inside you     stirring masses of eggs

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 lungs underwater
       galaxies slow
 as cities of moonflower
      moths
 sipping   this other
 dusk    glowing
 by the tree's throne
                      bole of air
 limbs planted in millenia-
 old seed
 breathing
 nectar
 in elysian-light fields
 from the lens   unfixed
 enmeshed           self
 of nighthawks            the origins
 of catalpas
             half bridges
 into   conflagrations  of moonlight
 around the song of the water towers
desperate enchantment
           for harmony
skewered   on the shadows
of a green glass eye     casting
about
for a white rose
embedded in the clouds
sound of the mind
     dearticulating
     what's left of
the alchemist   blackened
skin flapping   in a puddle
of semen        hissing to be
born            just once

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

in this chrysograph of alien twilights
                          memories of earth
                          atmospheres of beauty
drenched in spring suns woven into the harp
                          its forests
                          an ancient painting
lines of red efts
song of the mourning cloaks
effulgence of chimeras :
I am the distance
                to your eyes
our steps turn green
            velvet doors   into
your hills reflecting the jewelled
        thrushes'
domain of mist
my hands steeped in crystals
       burrowing into the sky
       behind veils of bird faces
woven
       into orbiting leaves

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

in the geology of sunsets
she said
        as we sat
in the midst of
                   the dance
of the red admirals
                      cusp of leaf and water
                      time behind
river means
                             "mirror of the tree-souls"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

dusk means
                                  "deep speech"
say
             the limbs of mates
vining
           in approaches of sleep
as an image of the lady slipper
                     lipped ovoid
of unimagineable pink
permanent wetness
in the forest shadows
                           mote-eyes   of
supernatural organs

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

across the starlit     minutes
 thought we had      landed
back on        "earth"         no
lunar fragrances
undulated          pink
flowerskin       of your neck
inhalation of rain
                   condensed vision
finches of gold
from dreamvoids       wind craters
translations from the astral
cries of the wing   crescent   of darkness
in the shadows of the triangular
       sun

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

if we could but lie down here in rain and stone
                    then
the winter wren could weave us into its long long song
               of
twigs and water
could make us
the offpath light
planet of blue glass where the forest is liquid
could keep us there
hypnotized until the trees bent to smother
                us
as we wished
folk figures with lutes of moss
great rocks mastering us
into the sleep of the horned men
amphibious eye of the sun
craft of silence conveying us
into the book of the invisible

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the stones
awakened at night
breath-chant of moles
moon of the satyr
my tongue deep
inside your body
your shadow splits
     I
am one of them
     you
brought these rills
     of
light into evenings
    euphoric
with lilac
in this paradise
     the orioles
of your sex

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am the fan of voices receding
from this mouth of suns
I am the glacier the wind the yellow moon
I am the wet red wings enfolded
in the echoes of her back
when she sleeps   in the black marble canyons
long dry of seed-waters
in beads of whispered night
in our castles of rotting flesh
we were born     secretions from a cold womb
we have achieved the Utopia of the incomprehensible
we are streams of heliotrope
the negative light created by certain birds
preserved in pink bottles
far beneath the earth

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

endless shores   mist   cold     and
sweet   the arrangement of     fields
and   the pheasants   there     setting
of amber   and scarlet     disappearing
into   auroral springs   we are
swallowed   into that light   that goes
before them   that we would live     without
knowing   to move in   to the pheasant-realm
ghosts   of those   vaster shores     colored
beyond belief                no turning
back         to the lore       of the day
we will be                       there
when we are floating             apart
and flesh             is mist
in that haunt                 closed lushly
and tightly               by cold earth
and sweet

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The light from a billion years
  ago
takes the shape of my hands
    clasping you
in cold black space
    gold
spills   from a fissure
   in the sky
no trace of earth    or
     sun
here   on this stone
    in my palm
winter's opal
               impossible
densities     of shadow
     the brooding
planet     cataracts
    of  eye-fossils
the forsaken satellites
between stations
in unspecified regions
between moments
a particle among particles
halfheard
half spoken
in the moonlit cusp
of sleep and dream

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I drink and drink
    from
the hallucinated lake
    oread fluids
    draughts of emerald
    hot scarlet spheres
turning      flesh feasting
on the curves of night
illuminated litanies of spring peepers     rising
a bolt of time unrolling
from the castle of stars
shimmer of everything
in the void of purple fragments
       word-moons
       station of latticed gold
       song
re:entry

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

at the rotting edges of existence
alien words     engendered
           enflamed
in the white pulse
        internal rant     imprismed
in this pattern   of cold wet light
against the opacity of windows
               train cries
still reverberating   from the dawn
against the black hide of the sky
mingling with the hoarse crow
laughter            the medieval
voices of worms               hanging
            from dead trees
in the mirror of each room
water rises
               swallowing images of our corpses
holding on to themselves

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The calmness it takes to write.
The almost impossible to achieve sense of calmness.
It forms as a brief fever, an evanescence of cool
brilliance ---
all words are written in flight and there is a rippling
of voices between the wind-strata, a burning that forces
the ink deep into the paper.
---the moment desired is that of mint crystals,
liquescing  into a glass of violet fragrance, on a
night to be called ideal forevermore.
On the air the taste of red branches
across the moon ---
Speaking with utmost care as there already is too
much preciousness lost, wasted a frailty.
Creating silence the task of a Titan.
I dig deeper into color to find the hidden, and sometimes,
by chance, a drop of whiteness falls into time(utopia of
sleep or waking trance, the drone of lotus-eaters),
"fainting moonlight" I called it once in the cold black caves
of the day ---
--- moment of ambrosia ---
--- destroyed by thoughts of existence ---
submerged in the becoming of an ancient train buried
in the night rains, a galaxy of dark matter, a rabbit
burned into the metal light of the pre-dawn street ---
--- Utopia of sleep, waking trance, the drone of lotus-
eaters, moments of ambrosia to be known forevermore as
ideal

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

from the mirror
      of autumn
you
   are the sweet sun
born   into lightlessness
                from this black lake
the eagle breathes
forest of dead elves
I return to
   snowtext
        haunted grass
beneath
      throat
of dark rivers
       all her faces
the raw hoar     blood-rosaries
cold prayers     gutted dreams
I shout and shout
   to
the pale red sun
   these pages
death-maps
           rarified
to zero

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

sharing
the
green wine
of the spruce-kings
I
opened
my eyes
on
dream
To speak as the text of the silence of owls

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

attar of autumn
thick
in
this
cup
a robe
so
heavy
with jewels
it is impossible
to
walk in
speech
of the archimage:
hazel
emerald
ermine: fragrance of stones
moon
through   dead leaves
owlfaces
planets lodged
beneath
the
lids

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

voice-of-lace
              still
remembering
        a
name
on the lips
       heard
in near sleep
in a storied
     sand
before the tongue
an
orb
of sound
revolving
a
cold hand
a red window
yours
thin
circlet of gold
surrounding
snowblue flames
scarlet-frosted
         breasts
of finches
parts
of a world
that never
was

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I became moonlight to see the
night
I became the night to see her
face
I became her face to see
myself
the snowg.rey hours fall forever
a journey to be written
a breath given back to the trees
the taste of silence sometimes
almost forgotten
within these depths
where the lines interweave
and say nothing

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In cerulean chambers      of
       hollowed-out clouds
amidst fire-fountains'
       jets and plumes
of violetwhite
sipping nectars from stratospheric afternoons
almost unbearable               the sweetness
              of ungraspable minutes
the day enforested with
               shifting towers and domes
of light
Surrounded by rays
     the head  enskied
in immeasureable raptures
     I have watched too many
suns    grow cold                        in too short
a time

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beneath
the
streams
of
her
face
in dark spaces
               enlaced
to memories          of ice
and yarrow
               an alien green
                                    flares
the orchidlipped sun
a cry for the terran fields
Feed
me
her
voices

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Treatment by injection of pigment of gold
to regain         that state
       Ambrosia of reverie
       "flame of eft on moss"
at the end of the image
        "deep blue suns of winter"
text of webs
Region of sustained caresses

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In this light     exactly
     before and after     the storms
we are welded     charged amber
                   transforms fog
into thunder      and releases
a landscape       of illuminated spherical webs
                   still drops of pure white
 from cloud to earth     glimmerechoes
          fall
                     mere of dew
 the time-locks       long deserted
      we once flowed through
 here   appearing   as faint glimpses
      in the trees
 emanations of a onceheld flesh
 sounding woodnotes
      that die
 in the walled plane
        of a cupped hand

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Windows reflected within windows
steeped
 in phantom streams
white
fragments
of
the moon                              these lines
what I hear in your glances
translations
of
sound
into color
bluegreen
light
of recent memory                         then crimson
turning into lilac and catbird
or the miniature sunflowers singing
under Mars

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Under
            or behind
you
autumn's body dreams its own seduction
disintegration on a green back
             silvered with squeezed juices
looking up at the air
      woven with wings
globes of seed
          exploding mouth
to organ
     configurations of shaded reds
where pods of flesh filled
with pale syrups revolve
around
the
desire
for your resined tongue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Freezeframed through the windshield
 images of deconstructed animals
 appear on the interstate
 a black fox running
before the speeding car
wearing a crown of gold
and rubies
 in the dawn mists overhead
two pileated woodpeckers
become pteranodons
passing through all movements at once
into realms of uncontrollable transformation
fairy-tales of a prehistoric future
that bring on orgasms
internally
Exhaled
as the souls of the fields
and reshaped into their
grasp
invisible fissures open
and we are included
in the pigments and grains
we see
as if we were faces
of earth pressed against the breasts of
pheasants

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One evening falls into another
an unbroken stream of
enthroned glimmers
what is
to arch the days and become
gold mere we wander to
in antique cloaks
moonscribe
and handmaiden to the owls
                            doubleskulled, we drink
the voices of the moths

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                       Over
the collapsed spans              of summer
we walk
       through tunnels
                       of paper
into blocks of rain and mist
      hovering
over forests of skeletal jewelweed
darkgreen tissue binds
    one step to another
the weave we pass through
    thickened       by the continuous
soft whirrings    of marsh insects
choosing between impossibilities
                               we
have no deeper place to go
                          than these
folds of solar minutes
            heightened by the wand-flights
of alchemical dragonflies
we pass the giant mushrooms
            and cities of spiders
returning to sky-textures
                        on
              lampless and
indecipherable paths

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wind-stables
where night    flares
        out of granite
behind red veils
thrown by your hand
across the giant crowns
     of dock
rain of asters
   where we walk
trapdoors open in the moonlight
      close over us
somewhere far
    the air remembers
our breathless flight
               journeys on the
thousand planes of
      autumn
a scarlet singing
painted     on the
throat

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fungus sucks juices     from the light
   by morning     a ceiling of
clouds    covers the threshold-rings
    colored grasses uncurl
to our door-seeking eyes
the voyage peaks   at its beginning
            transporting us back
into the tarn's depths
rectangular and devoid      of the surfaces
    that  had reflected   our faces
as timeless beings    created of ecstatic
     matter
swallowing themselves               in tides of stranger air
only the smell of damp bark
     remains     permeating the rooms
with moisture     from the pores
         of those uncast worlds
clenched tightly in our hands

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bent double     over a rotting
log    I am behind     you
and you are     the waterfall
distant and noiseless   through
drapes of red light    at the
tree's throat    opening into
your salamander-haunted waters
I penetrate    flesh in the
wood   heads dissolved   we
are caves   wet stars
pour from our mouths

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
BOOK 3:::THE METAGALACTIC

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the echo's slow harp and tapestry
          of waves and jagged arcs
of white flame
vertical wind and ice
where earth occults
             itself
long shores of dark pulses
                         a sudden landing

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beamed eyelets of sound
motion rosegold through
the form of wind around
blocks of insoluble hours
                                         from what mind I
                                               speak
                                         the sovereign voices
                                              reach
                                         back into this
                                              sand
                                         this scent of languor
                                             irridescence
                                         through my parting
                                         fingers
                                         a  cometary   gesture

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



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