End Of Summer
It slips through us
a parade of delicate
dead women that carry
the sun in the August sky

a carcass singing
in the compost fire
invites the worms
to burrow deeper

a frost will come
aphids frozen on a
night blooming flower

your eyes the untouchable
pools of mercury
bend the world into
a curved mirror
it slips through us

a copperhead in the autumn leaves
call that living
the trees become mere shadows
soon we will burn them
to feel
what was lost
The ice harps whine
from a muted birth

from a high hill I wait
for hawks returning

but what passes over in this
sky is a purgatory of sound

it is the end of winter and
it burns like salt on the ice

a stone prairie is under my feet
the many clouds I grow from

devour my shadow and for weeks now
I will feed their alien hunger
Being Away On Tuesday
Jays in the maples scream
as I drink my tea there is
no way to explain my hands
everything is a mystery

I’ll tell you how the clouds
gathered and broke I’ll kiss
your hands it is futile your
white fingers are warm are cold

like clouds in a sun squall the
light in the snow field gives me
your pain I move my eyes ever so
slightly and you are gone forever