When the bee stands in for the body born
And the grass makes a broken plate of the sun
In the grass and undecided we lie like beggars
And put our fingers to the interstices of a streetmap
We could go here for sure but then you’d move me
again.
The moving pictures buttered to the screen
But it takes all attention winking at us
Cryptohand, cryptoglass, cryptomotion
you can pass through.
Oh but I. Storm out and the wind
with me.
Whether we incant over glasses of cider
Or lift bottled bloom up and away
When the houses have awnings when battened down low
Into the hush on hoof or wing
Gown to the ground, just where the spade
hits.
I fear we not alone I would wet your wings
I would, like cattle and vine, find passage here
Out to the sold and sunny house
Where you lie splintered in wheat, backless
Face down in straw, tucked in my lip,
the beetle.
Of mad beginnings stern gray by spirit
Beat to the dirt was dust for the spider
I have not I think known you.
But now I am with you
Remember me moving to
welcome you.
The sun moves low and grand
burning a swath in the afternoon pasture
The dark birds a little calmer
They went past it into the divider
The sun moved as did the wings and went
at a mortal pace
Went down where I could let the spiders in
One by one tickled by pinprick petals
One by one sticky and sticklers for feelers
I would save you through the glassy dirt
save for my red eyes save for my
exited eyes
In time, one exalts what has been waiting by moonlight
I pass and count yellow room, cream room, and bay
How many times has that one wave moved in on us
How many doglegs of the shore each year
I have only the bones of spring the nettles
and nectar
Would that we had left each thing where it belonged.
Truth be told I once said I liked it.
broken like berries on the roof
we threw them, true, you and me both
they came for us, they whispered at us, who hides
on the porch
It is always one fool that carries joy to the forest
While you were among us none of us cared for you
In spring each engagement must have wind and cherries
There are monasteries, folk houses concert halls town halls
My hands now reside there, as mouth does,
as eyes were
it alarms me, how different my tongue tastes,
what moves me. If these are the shades
I beg you to draw them. Into the saddle
come sun or come morning. Into the snowfall
I licked from your eyes. Better swarm now, field mouse,
winged kite.