Out Of A Window

 

That is the lonely room
the threshold of gladness
the low pouring stars
he is lowly and drinks of it

the order if his hand engraved
who is death who is grass
who is senator who is provider
over the green belly stretched wire

         all the river of dead
         all the river of living
         all the moon of grief

the world’s jewels
at the end of

the tread of a cloud
the back of the ground
trembles

a field of lights a boundary
a universe like any mouth
wants to sing
you are a boat man in the city

you are arrows of an ancient mind
the me which is impossible
must reach me

 

I loved him correctly
and the spirit and food
dedicated to the new law
gives someone dance
properties to pay for

 

         sinking as low as the sea
         sleeps at night

         out of a window to return

 

and stand gazing before the picture
still asleep

 

a palm of a voice sweats

“this is where I saw the day
 defeat our voices crying”

I am a miniature

I am glaciers rock

resting in an empty field
                 
                  love of all promises
                  like snow by the stone

the turn of the sea

and a key
         our poems
         that are driven
           into   the
idea of neutral flesh

and within sight of
the whispering lake
         appears a property of silence

 

a forest of people
who  again are a path.

 

 

 

 

poetry

next