26 February 2008

Exquisite as the moth's fan sweep of air
In all dull planes, shimmering in circumspection's
Lack, did the stone kill New York City's daughter.
In her brief term's anteroom
Was the floor swept, the milk fetched.

23 February 2008

After the snow, the disengagement's anatomy was drawn
In the shrouded sun's spackled pall light,
Mapping the air to tree veins
In ghost white.
The season's fleet carapace to a green heart
Was ours too in gray fellowship--
Brittle particular to tendril union,
Cold with faultless age.

17 February 2008

There is no pot to hold this rose
Nor vase in the still tempest of hours;
Nor's earth undone and remade
Too large a canvas
For such various opacity
And pallid green.
Untheme'd stalk from every beginning,
Frameless stay, uncaught endeavor.

16 February 2008



Unsure of this morning
And light turning with a tint drop
In the pool of darker clearness:
An aftertaste of night--
Not to come, but was.
Is this time, backward into day
Folding memory?
Else unraveling
Presents ribbon unrein,
Or the now bird-throated trees' discurling song.

12 February 2008

Hokusai's wave in its large poise it is
As your many fingers
At my back before the words
Fold down in grave
Exasperation not unmingled with an old thought,
As a salt on the leavings of the beach.

06 February 2008

Your worst may seem defining,
As best is the common chance
That outlines with a random start
The alley or no-thru way.
The precision is the minus
Of a puzzle's cut-out blank.

03 February 2008

The beauty of the fallow
Is a shadow back-lit,
A tintinabulation hushed.
In unsure calamity met, or not,
The winter garden austerity
Is coldly meet.