Sometimes
there are clouds
that look like
dolphins
eating other clouds
like sharks.
And sometimes
there are people
who see Jesus
in the woodgrain
of the door, a face
like Turin
drawn in
turpentine
and love.
Sometimes
life has left us
such
an empty page
we crayon in
a faith
because
without it
we
just
echo
echo
echo
Goin' Hollywood
Thinkin' about death
is like
thinkin' about
Disneyland.
Never been to either place
and never expect to- are you
like that?
Can you feel its scratchy
approach
like you hear it
someplace
way far off and scary
but the monster
always carries away
the pretty young thing, and you're not
much of either,
these days. You're sure
you'll be the
resourceful 'girl-next-door', who
always makes it through-- right on and past
the end.
Homes
Our childhood homes
we carry on our backs
like snails. The memories coil
round and round, the nightmares
and the miracles
spiral end to end,
are heavy on our shoulder blades
like wings that cannot fly.
House Without Windows
I built my house without windows.
The shrubs have grown wildly about
without. And all the people
came to watch.
And all the people.
The timbrel played.
The olives ripened
and all the people came to watch.
I took from my trunks
a winter's scarf
and dined alone
at home.
I chilled the wine
and passed the time,
the people, rallied
to watch the rout.
I strung a necklace
and fed the cat
who kept the mice at bay.
I laughed a little
watching the eyes
that watched the mouse.
I patterned and paced
the endless halls,
and all the people came to watch.
All the people
upon the rise
disguised
as windows
without a house.
Impasse
Black goop stuck so deep
I feel it rising,
hardening; the drains
of life where nothing will go
anywhere
again.
The Linear Days
The linear days
of straight thoughts
in straight lines
come to me now and then-
lulling my frenetic cries
like a good train
on sound track
can calm the frantic.
The clack of thoughts
on linear days are
life's ligatures- append quick joy
to slow sadness,
link sober choice to
panicked madness, give voice
to all my selves
and find them
holy.
The linear head
takes tripped desire,
joins it to a purer fire,
a prudent afterthought.
The battle fought,
it makes peace, confesses sin
-gathers 'what is'
and 'what is not'.
The linear rain
drops daily down
and washes free
the tangled things-
I pass the hours
listening
by a still
and silver river, till a single
reed
will sing.
Measure Twice, Cut Once
In all this talking,
one over the other, is there any listening
at all? In this shoving and bumping about,
where is the simple
silence? Before the word
is said,
before the blow, it's important
to really know that life
caNnot beedited.
Mutant
Granite gives weight.
Hardstone
coastline, battlement, grave
-press firm to it; make strong.
Smooth-faced rock,
cool to palm and cheek, speech slow
and solid, meld me with the mass of earth's
old sons.
The rock said, 'No'.
Ocean, first gray
then blue, seen green in sunlight, moonlight
silver mood, then peaks
of churning chop and change,
make me loose
like you so I could flow forever.
The sea said, O
you do, already do,
and
slapped the rock.
The Nature Of Things
The wind's blown through,
cleaned all
the detritus
away.
A cold and mighty wind it was
but wind is something comes and goes
and now
it's gone.
The barn still stands.
Leans
a little.
Get out the shingles,
hammer, nails.
Add reinforcing
lumber
for another growing
season. Cows
need milked: they
low and low.
Necessary Measures
There are things
not yet ended, must be
lidded shut. Moss will grow
velvety
over,
even bees will buzz their yellow
mustard
honey by and by.
Comely things
in good time yet
will show
this was
important to be struggled through,
like wind gone
out of
lung,
and only halfway up the hill,
you feel a prescient
lift
and know you've stepped back into breath
while life's climbed
back inside
your solid
pocket, baying
like the dog
who's day it is.
....From The Tree Of