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.