Archive | March 2014

If nothing

With all the weight
of nothing in my hand,
I let it fly
off on the wind.
Smelling wet cold new,
under the dull,
there’s a hidden green.
A walk into the mud —
who is there
to pull back
last year’s growth?
We imagine
we can see into it.
And I’m not saying
I have to put it down.
But my own
heavy heart —
the gray hiding green
with bleak yellow bursts
of aconite
on melting snow —
is already enough,
if nothing,
to carry.



To wake is to struggle —
the dream,



Boots in mud.

And you never could learn to let go.

Could you give me a hand up?

Not to pretend
that anything comes of it
outside of what was meant.

There was the wanting,
one way,
but then the wanting changed.

And he said it, first:
I wanted to be your friend.

But there was the how.

You could not find it.
I could not find it.
And so easy to let be.

So here is the myth,
the well,
the anchor —

to soothe,
to quench
or to keep.

And my hands grow tired of holding.

Maybe that is all
she ever meant.

Gray Dream

I never was there —
you minutely
construct the clockworks,
set to rounding.

You dream me reckless —
backed to a corner,
one hand raised,
what for.

Such a long sleep —
why do you
wait so?

Together is alone —
no one else
can know,
what’s real?