Building
on Sand
1
Everywhere
the afternoon
gropes
steadily to night.
Some people
have lit fires;
others read
by candlelight.
Geese litter
the river bank,
drifts of
snow their whiteness,
stained with
freshet mud;
or is it the
black
of midnight's
swift advance?
They walk on
thin ice
at
civilization's edge.
Around them,
the
universe's clock
ticks slowly
down.
2
Who forced
that scream
through the
needle's eye?
Gathering
night,
the moon on
the sea bed
magnified by
water.
Inverted,
the big
dipper,
hanging its
question
from the
sky's dark eye lid.
Ghosts of
departed
constellations
walk the
night.
Pale stars
scythed
by moonlight
bob
phosphorescent
flowers on
the flood.
3
The flesh
that bonds;
the bones
that walk;
the shoulders
and waist
on which I
hang
my clothes.
Now they
stand alone
beneath the
moon
and listen at
the water's edge
to the
whispering trees.
They have
caught the words
of snowflakes
strung at
midnight
between the
stars.
Moonlight is
a liquor
running raw
within them.
4
There are
striations
in my heart,
so deep,
a lizard
could lie there,
unseen, and
wait
for
tomorrow's sun.
A knot of
sorrow in
daylight's throat;
the heart a
great stone
cast in
placid water,
each ripple
knitted to
its mate.
Timeless,
the worm at
the apple's core
waiting for
its world to end.
Seculae
seculorum:
the centuries
rushing
headlong.
5
Matins:
wide-eyed
this owl
hooting
in the face
of day.
Somewhere,
I remember
a table
spread for two.
Breakfast.
An open door.
"Where
are you going, dear?"
Something
bright has fled the world.
The sun
unfurls shadows.
The blood
whirls stars
around the
body.
"It has
gone." she said. "The magic.
I no longer
tremble at your touch."
6
You can drown
now
in this
liquid
silence.
Or you can
rage against this slow snow
whitening the
dark space
where
yesterday
you placed
your friend.
The silver
birch wades
at dawn's
bright edge.
Somewhere,
sunshine will
break
a delphinium
into blossom.
7
Tight lips.
A blaze of
anger.
A challenge
spat
in the wind's
face.
High-pitched
the rabbit's
grief
in its silver
snare.
The midnight
moon
deep in a
trance.
If only I
could kick away
this death's
head,
this sow's
bladder.
Full moon
drifting
high in a
cloudless sky.
8
After heavy
rain
the house
shrinks.
Its mandibles
close.
A crocodile
peace
descends from
the jaws of heaven.
I no longer
fit my skin.
Iguana spots
itch.
Walls
encircle me,
hemming me
in.
The I Ching
sloughs my name:
each lottery
ticket,
a bullet.
None with my
number.
9
Late last
night I thought
I had grasped
the mystery:
but when I
awoke
I clasped
only shadows and sand.
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