as promised, promises.

recents...


The Work in the World

Me with my body, and you with
Yours; we will make each other happy when the
Wind pushes through the window.

It was a long day, and I worked below the
Trees, making the ground new. I have carved a
Channel from the creek to make our work easier this
Summer. It is not all the water we will need, but
It will help. And I could hear the farmer already
Across the woods cutting furrows. His engine was
Louder than the birds. I will meet him
Soon, and we will have friends. Tomorrow the morels
Will be up like we expected.

At noon I sat on the ground, already tired. I
Thought of you. I drank water and saw the
Dirt on my hands. Dirt makes the shovel
Easier. Here it is, before June, and I am already wishing for
Help. But tonight will be cool again.
The wind will blow.

I came to you early this afternoon, with supper still
An hour away. My excuse was to water the animals again, to
Save you the trouble. I wish my whole life to do
Small things for you. When the wood is cured I will
Make you a table. I have spent good
Money to buy you plants that will flower each year, and the
Seeds you brought from your old lawn are coming up. See,
This place will always be beautiful.

At the end of night is the place I cannot take you. The pans
Hang clean in the kitchen. Everything will
Be under sleep. But my eyes will be in the field, in the
Rustle of life that's always alive. It will be a giant
In my ears. It will move around us and with us. It will
Replace us when we have forgotten it, when we are gone to the
Flowers rising up from beneath.


Continued Studies

The grass is cut short, and will not lie down
Against the sound of the wind.
But I can barely see this. It's after eight. It's
Almost nine. The world is tired with me.

Every sound in my head is the same sound. The
Trees and voices and streetlights are all
Jazz. The key changes once a minute as it stretches out.
The drummer keeps getting slower and slower. He's
Switched to brushes. The trumpet has no mute and is
Blowing from center. Piano is water
Faucet. I see empty tables and empty bottles and
Slow people dancing. The music sits around
And comes to me slow.

All this evening I know nothing. Thinking is for the
Edges. I'm in the center, with trumpet. Look
Outside again. Dark enough not to see. People
And the edges are gone. I'm right up by the spindle, made a
Cushion of rotation.


Sequence

The usual somber and quiet, then all that
Ending. A low plane over the woods. Two
Propellers pulling the wind over shape
Of the plane, and doing it loud.
All the movement in the top of the woods, stirring
Down into the low. Everything alive knows it
Without understanding.

The sound streaks away like faster
And faster, to where nothing can catch it.
Then goes away, and is gone. And last
Of the wind goes too. Resume somber. Resume
Quiet. All things back to life in normal.

In night, the always chance of rain comes.
It comes in on drizzle, and tightens to a pour.
Every moving bends against it, but shakes it off in
The hour before dawn. Then only dark and quiet,
When all the meanings are invisible.


that's all for now... sorry thirdworst about breaking your pg-13 rule.

ds