Astronomies

If stars collapse
Upon themselves
And their fire
Burns out,

And millions of light
Years extend
Across the soundless
Void--omniscient, eternal--

Then how much time
Passes from speaking
To silence,
From dedication
To omission,
From aching
To forgotten?

A brief flicker
Does not compass me
To you, but discloses
An ancient letting go.

The Pier (Rondeau Redoublé - variation)

I walked along the unfamiliar

strip along the bay,

eyes focused on the distance

without absorbing sight.

The silence of the day

amplified the murmur

of my mind’s mêlée

as I walked along the unfamiliar.

Central Valley effluence

moved with the flotsam and fray

as I drifted from sense

and the strip along the East Bay,

surged toward the flight

pattern of seagulls enacting their belligerent dance:

Slice through skies, glide,

eyes focused on the distance

beyond the infinite pier

of weathered planks lingering over blue-gray.

Push against the cutting wind. Tear

without absorbing sight.

I walked with purpose: endure,

defy the rumored void until I find my way

to some other state. Disintegrating into the bay, a fence

returned me shoreward into the quiet.

I walked along.

Away

Alaska, South Dakota, France

are all better places to be than here

where sidewalk weeds and graffiti enhance.

Alaska, South Dakota, and France

are not this mediocre, high-priced chance

that seems to push me near

to Alaska, South Dakota, or France—

they’re all better places to be than here.

Sunday Afternoon

We had no oranges,

only a bagful of yellow green-speckled squash

from your mother's garden.

Back home now unfamiliar air,

we followed crooked lines

westward where the air was moist.

The sky was silver all the way,

the coastal range revealing itself to us simultaneously

for the first time and always.

Passing tomato trucks on a highway

neatly furrowing acres of corn and rice fields.

Passing horses on sparse hilltops.

Emerging from one geography to another,

like being born. Navigating instinctually

toward the unfamiliar.

What better way to embrace

a home than to sleep inside it?

The sunlight muted itself,

slipping through bedroom blinds,

covering me as you slowly pulled back the covers,

revealing my sleeping form, and compelling it

awake for the first time and always.

Untitled (work in progress)

Through the melting window,

pain in the deep purple

unfurling from broad leaves.

Pain in the gathering of pollen

by frantic honeybees.

Pain in the early fall breeze

in a late morning.

Inside, it is unbearably

mild as well:

A calm sip of tea,

a leisurely perusal of headlines,

a hot shower.

The surface is as smooth as Machine-age glass.

Recitations

I’m a one-cent worker—

Who the fuck are you?

Driving surreptitiously

up unpainted streets

dressed in crumbled brick

and shaded asphalt.

A candle,

a wisp of incense,

the still as ocean sucking into itself.

Gwan Shr Yin, with eyes

on each hand.

Mundane recitations:

Computer,

One who communicates indirectly through colon closed parenthesis click send,

Figs accosted by ants,

IM, cell phone, finches chirping, high-speed pic upload,

Feline in afternoon August light,

Starting fresh after flooding,

scrubbing silted corners,

laying carpet,

preparing dinner,

listening to fig leaves rustle evening breezes,

the telegraph tapping of ceiling fans:

“Sea of Suffering. Stop. Observer of the sounds of the world. Stop. The sounds of the world.

Joie de Vivre

There were three of you

Wooded and ensconced

Sharp and wary

And no way

To capture you

Disappointed

You sang high

And briefly

Breaking into chorus

In the midst of flights

For territory

Wooded and encroached

Obscured and aware

Of the order of things

Mine to see

Your browns and yellows

Foliaged and dulled

Are only mine

To see when you show

In quick movements

But when I looked

You were gone

And cold winds wintered in

Splintering habitats

So fastidiously keystoned

I rebuilt a rectangular fortress with

Westward windows arching

Saw diminished eleventh-month light

Illuminate inward ecologies

Collapsed under disunity

Then detritus covered the ground

Trophic levels disappeared

I had only myself to eat

I shrilled a self-elegy

Accompanied by birdsong

Lay under wind-blown leaves

Soothed by death scents

Reordered according to

Outward ecologies

Old niches filled with new species

New niches created

Your chorus reached me

I looked toward

But you were gone.

Kitchen Conversation

He commanded me

As a dog,

And I was a dog.

He barked orders

And I stared, wide-eyed,

Stunned.

He moved

As to move through me,

And I leaped aside.

"You are a dog,"

He assured.

And I was a dog.

Juneau, AK

Living an Alaskan wilderness

dream, a glacier easing into

a new niche. Whatever was

gnawing and restrained

has been pacified in an opium-

like tranquility untroubled

by dreams.

Are there Northern Lights

reverberating like silent echoes,

casting forth undulating specters?

You'll never come back,

why should you?

California dreams are supposed to be

warmer. But 100 miles from the Pacific

nells "stasis" like a bell

rung in mourning for adventures

pretended and tides recoil

from miles of flat land dotted

by apartments and cracked

sidewalks. But not you. You

walked right into a Northern Light

and found what you weren't

looking for.