Narrative
I swallowed the current
At high tide I swam with the moon
I saw the wolves hunting
And all winter I dreamt of being a polar bear.
There are footprints climbing up to the sky,
And an ancient wing
Frozen beneath the earth.
Bone, teeth, hair, muscle,
There is food mingled in the swamp
And mangrove roots full of secrets.
The images mingle.
I see my father’s face blind with age
Turned towards me with a smile of sweetness.
Bittersweet, unexpected.
What baffles me is the fleeting image,
Perhaps we matter in someone else’s dream.
When There Are No More Words
When there are no more words,
the garrulous sentence is at last stripped to shreds,
into blood song, wreckage of bone,
the explosion of a wave
and ghost vessels dissolving
into this heart-cavity;
salt water.
So deep, this silence,
speechless with the mystery of your
absence.
Folded earth, folded,
dreaming of another horizon,
night wind drifting
into this heart-cavity;
breathless recall.
Long before we whirled into orbit
silence was a language.
In the amazing cadence of time –
one – two – three – four –
the deep hum of the universe,
infinite meaning
into this heart-cavity.
No writing on the wall.
No wall.
I’m Going Back to Old
I’m going back to old
To the springtime of water
And mesmerizing stories
Time, a silken rope
Summer night whispering illusion:
Is it true a stranger out of nowhere
Is better than a lover from the past?
Without a thought
Straight on with what is…
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