Ten Thousand Drops of Ink
old poems return
to haunt
with their marble voices
of night and time
seedheads of dandelions
fill the windows
the light
like water
on the tongue
catkins and pine needles
gather again
a pheasantT s cry
shadows of deer
in the stubblefields
clouds
of lilacs
and gold azaleas
already faded
into last week's memory
of them
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
sometimes
a change of light
changes
everything
hands on a table
names of the days
coffee
and silence and
outside
the rain
lace curtains
icy star
branch
of redbud
afternoons
of
flesh
wrapped in leaves
of sleep
decades
gathering
in the stillness
of
rose-scented poems
like
remnant snow
beneath my hand
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the light of so many kitchens
right here
by the flowering apple
caught in the cold shadows
of May's
rain of old thoughts
my fingers
bent around a pen
of dust
as a lone goose
cries across
the blackened sky
looking
for stars and deer
at 5 a.m.
purity
of white dogwood
in the mind
a rabbit
running forever
across the emptiness
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
morning
grey as time
raw summer wind
last night
still drips
no moon
a weird silence
hangs on the yards
a dove coos
and coos in my head
a white moth
sinks into the emerald light
inside the chiming of things
a nuthatch, at the edge of dawn
calls back
every nuthatch of my life
cocoons in winter
hanging on dark threads
the soot of wishes
smeared across the moon
evening's cold candle
on the stovetop
empty kettle in an empty room
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
hard pears
breath of wild mint
on your hands
what do we talk about
hour after hour
leaf-mutters
distant birds
river sounds
here in the glow of ironweed
and memory
at the end
of
my life
i am this
crow
in a dead tree
ink
on a page
of
mist
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
dream of a dream
river
of sleep, oriole
song
this aura
of
timelessness as
everything
ends
a crush
of
suns and berries
the way
light bends the trees
moons and pears
float
crystal
shadows from
nowhere to here
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
passages
of cloud music
in cold persimmon light
teasel heads
where moon and streetlamp meet
steeped in the smell
of apples
cellars
old books
leaping from image to image
as fast as i can
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
listening to the rain
it's all the rains
i've ever heard
years and eaves and awnings
life fades away
i'm uncertain
it was ever there
scents of sage
hair
seedpods
salt and ash
the lightyears flash by
i move like a hummingbird
among these suns
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
voices of leaves
deep in the air
surround me
i crush them to see
moons
buried in ponds
sumac wine
of a hundred frosty hours
fingers of autumn
lift bowls of tea
from the blue
gold fields
turn into crows
summer stays
in a rotting peach
i stare
straight into
the transparent glow
inside the inside of things
pacing, listening
to traffic
and unwritten lines
falling apart letter by letter
sweet tang of death everywhere
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
words
and crickets
ghost sounds on gravel
first full moon of autumn
in this world of tea and mist
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
luminous pavements
at the roots of old trees
nuthatch and icegrey sky
converge
a life in parentheses
dreaming of mars in november
i live for
tomorrow's ink and coffee
first
bitter days
of february
sun buried in concrete
memory a pond
of frozen light
i walk round and round and round
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
gold leaves
under clear ice
the ringing of cobalt days
between fields
the black of crows
bitter snow driven
into the old eyes of winter
centuries blow
through afternoons
words reach their limits
an endless cry in the pines
in the zero gravity
of white pages
breath is porcelain
in the stillness of chimes
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
into a lifetime's hour
of light
and shadow
a drop of silver falls and falls
between stars
where memories are cold stones
the dust of the self
on old windowsills
particles of bird song
empty sound
of winter pages
turning in a distant room
taste of light on dead pines
murmurs of old age
silenced
by a leaf
upon the lips
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
a bluewhite moon
unfolds
beneath the ink
when the world
is frozen to a lamp
a wish
the mouth of the page
naming
all this
strangeness
i take rough notes
ceaselessly
zeroes of ice
that echo soundlessly
black plums
in some/quiet universe
willing to believe anything
that can't possibly happen
i hear sleet
chittering to the weeds
i drift in huge blanks
among all these idiot words
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
snow melts
off december's marble back
the gravity of sleep lingers
the taste of wet leaves on old streets
hours littered with dead
muses
morning dusk
the fissure between light and silence
fleeting brilliance
of the black dust of galaxies
holding on to the page
unfolding
from dreams
deeporange crystal
behind the trees
what does not exist
is infinite
wind down the rails
snow falling forever
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
alchemies
of clear
ink
conjure this tonnage
of
phrases
quivering
between
bamboo and candlelight
white alphabets of ghostflesh
gather
on the other side of language
dark scent of light
pear
from long ago
clouds of moss across
all skies
and faces
still
the glass shadowfall
of
petals
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
a petal
a feather
a shaft of light
the mind
fainting
into
the infinite brevity
of
things
muse
of fits
and starts
seamless angel
the sky on its knees
at the bottom of nights
mouth foaming with galaxies
Poetry
an unheard noise
between
process and composition and
the cold constellations of silent
texts
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
lyre-dust
of
broken skies
a cloud of birdsong
in my head
a pure
crystal-drop
of memory
frozen
at the end of a gutter
in
the white zero of days
somewhere
between a sentence and
a dream
trees glitter
in a seance
of ice and doves and the unwritten
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
on
these daunting pages
where
a mouth of snow opens
into
the dark grass, sealed
in the blue
of winter days
lost childhood
returns
like
dead starlight
in empty
spaceships
beyond
this dew and honey
of
suns,
sleep, wet leaves,
traffic
geese, the world
we call it
and the chimes of death, tinkling
everywhere
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
half-heard
music of unseen
gestures
where
words come from, a hand
days later,
resting in mine
like a flower opening to catch
a fire falling
through
the snowy dark
amidst
these gravel heaps and
blocks
of concrete
this bone cold of the unattainable
ashen tongue
against
ashen tongue, an alphabet
mystical
as the afterthought
of mint and rasberry in December
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
cling, just barely
to
the edges of clouds
shadows
the town frozen over
with
bells of silence
as
all sounds
dwindle down
wet streets
into phrases of sublime extinction
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
deer
stare across
uncrossable trees
light murmurs to icicles
after wind, breath
a myth returning
with
the smell of old books
a
million years of
yearning
childhood
glimpses
of
pink
nothingness
between moons
and leaves of incense
a gold cricket singing
farewells
to the flesh
poems
the unfinished silk
of
days
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
silver shiver
of
transparent lace echoes
the endless hush
an
empty mouth, hovering in
a
phosphor of utterance
spilling
out of a broken vase,
this
glittering of verse
underneath
each pleated word
a
new oblivion
a moment that perishes
so quickly
in a cloud of blue doves
rising
from the dead leaves
of
eternity
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
breath bridges
old leaves
first violets
faces of snow, trees and sky
join the pages
holding fast
to a faint and distant cry
a black candle flame
emerging from oblivion
a dark feather
an iron sigh
brown cemetery weeds
i follow the sleet
into the city of old age
wind combs out
the long white hair of winter
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
tree
full of noise
black cloud of paragraphs
over
the witchy fields
dreamreal rain comes
dogs bark
i go home to cinnamon
books
the halfsleep of poetry