#1710 - beside a self

 

1710

5.278

5.x.24

beside a self

 

as thing is I

 

doesn’t matter the shape

 

a stone inscribes a circle

 

as it is with everything around us

 

there’s forage

bless up on

 

day sudden with each thing beside

 

in the pages of which I am author

 

I could tell round

the favour returning

 

I am their mirror

 

only now see myself

 

time ahead, behind

 

we’ll often take the sun for a sign

show other marks

 

world a stone to turn

 

struck day spreads out

from where

 

this breeze a rough guess

in the twinkle too

in the tangle

 

the stone is a sea

takes breath of sky

 

from pebble, from grain grown

 

self’s in what’s fallen

afoot

 

most of the world is above itself

neither far nor long

neither still

 

it’s round as the seeing eye

 

we’re beginning to be here

#1709 - listening to the sky

1709

5.277

4.x.24

listening to the sky

on another day not here

Gore cove Track Series

 

how it comes down to us

my old sky

 

just where the sun is caching me up

 

breathe the glisten in

crisp crystal

 

steps along

in a sun mottle

leaf strew

creek run under

 

just at the pace of the present

 

mind where

 

stumbling back to balance

 

place performs arrival

 

an excellence of taking care

 

noting what’s now and then  

here

 

how it’s beautiful to be home

#1707 - fretless

 

1708

5.276

3.x.24

fretless

for Siren Xypher

after watching them perform at the Brooklyn Museum of Art

 

the voice

the strings

the keys

 

guess on the tune

drag out

 

a round around maze

scat medley

of who knows what this blues bend is

 

fallen into through under over

words past  

and where

 

tongue up

to the mouthtops

 

hearts tune to

head thrown back

 

the breath together meaning

 

where all of us

keep time

#1707 - it's the ragweed not the goldenrod

 

1707

5.275

2.x.24

it’s the ragweed not the goldenrod

notes towards a villanelle

for Jordan and Sue

 

this season

chokes you up

 

one’s bright

the other hides its head

 

too heavy to fly

the goldenrod pollen

 

so it’s not the flashman after all

it’s the one who hides under

 

there is conspiracy of herbs

 

there’s spittle bug

 

black birch

tastes sarsaparilla

 

there’s a treaty between the root and the fungus

 

the body prisoner of illusion

it’s the old soul inversion

 

not what seems

like the shouting sun

the undermelt

 

it’s the little guy, the unassuming

chokes you up

 

as if there were heart in a mystery

 

found out

a dogsbane lookalike

easy to blame

or else

 

you think it’s money is the thing that lacks

money’s our least wise

 

here’s the upside down

the inside out

 

there’s bee balm

and the locust lumber

 

sheep sorrel shines

 

all of this must mean somehow

 

leaves of three say let it be

but that’s not how we fly

 

watch out for the little guy

 

as if thorns to defend

red cedar hawthorn

as if Velcro

or where I’m from

the farmer’s friend

 

here’s motherwort for the heart

bitter tincture under tongue

 

when woddsorrel

whistle wetter

 

snake root comes in the fall

it’s just there

the deer won’t touch it either

 

it’s almost as if nature knew

as if it had a sense of colour

 

hills fracked

white ash dying around

 

blame a borer

where’s the borer from?

 

how can these names matter?

 

it’s not the goldenrod

it’s the ragweed

chokes you up

 

all but the grasses lay down their heads

and are we not all that way headed?

 

all but the grasses are known