Notes On Migration

 

Birds in a hat

  in a fist what was that

         it’s a push a stasis a stain

a boat crimped in the sky

                           an inconvenient conversation
                        with that

a wire above the garbage outside
   dangling no current
but dark and curling

 

you’ve been a long circling

a cat on the log sleep (clawing)
  a wag lifting

where are the questions
asking themselves  silly
and dark and unrelenting ?

         you are a brick

         in the forest

         contained

         growing in

         more rooted

         wet and dry

         baking

 

nightfall east of you

  or something like that

hard to tell anyone

       talking on the roof

  years ago   skin sutras
drugged

  imbalance

in love  with traces
                  slicing you
                    opening
  toward the sunset

           are    stoves    of ashes

storms in opposite
  directions

  “a perfect place
   for country folk”
                               an argument

you think the only
  thing that makes sense

 

in the dog wood
and red brick

her mouth
against my chest

 

         well come the
         iron flutter
         of old mouths

         well come
         the city

 

the loosen
lit things
that arc and hunger
over fortune

but are almost
too thin
to happen

the crawlers
walkers
and flyers
seek security

 

well come me stone fish
of the
eastern bridge

 

I am going into my cradle now
     for my weapons

        “the whole empire
                      
         is not big enough”

 

         Who will know peace?
         What is the definition again?
         What length or times
or place describe the difficulty?
Wine clouds of the riders?    The rich?
Friends of the recruits?   & three
                                      different
                                            endings?

         Waving good-bye
         to the deep mountains
         where we have made
         our home

         They say we have come a long way
         to say nothing in particular

You left
in a hurry happy
while you could

 

while the river
was cold and empty.



poetry