1233

1232

1231

1230

1228

1228

1227

1226
Then we would be mortals
Without the spacious love
Of desire out of sense--
Yet this part caressed,
And that, innermost.
To fretless play in nature's tune
Was deathless, or seemed so.

1225

1224
The still strands moved by subway light
And angled neck
As disturbed mercury run like a bolt
From brow to nape,
From point, contour.
A glance to block another's gaze,
Who'd gauge a depth by surface
And tell a gesture
Beyond the scope of ink.

1223

1222

1221

1220

1219

1218
In the storm the swinging
Trees tune the wind
To that seashell space of emptiness moving,
Where out is inside
Gusting through marrows of sky
And bruised air.
The force mending vacuums
Undoes old roots and veins delicate
Stretch in the following calm.

1217

1216

1215

1214

1213
As trumpets the ashes
Shrewdly sound and keening
Grief's borrowed perception
Phantom-limbed, old
Apneas of love
Sensed thus scarred
By the diamond blue
Metal shavings gullet-lodge
Of death's finality.
Spread from my palm's arc,
Dust--this nothing has returned.

1212

1211

1210

1209
The austere piety of March
Becomes its vestements,
New-moist with old matter--
Prayers once galed
Through bent tree now,
With whispers chill-piteous,
Hiss of winter's eternal soul.

1208

1207

1206

1205

1204

1203

Love's portion has its hour

If hours be the measure.

.

Our pain is in pocket,

Love is tomorrow

In the garment behind the shop glass.

.

As the snow upon a field

Withdraws with clemency,

So your knots and tufts unfold

In self-love's sun,

And a second's time may coincide.