Between two high notes The melody gives a crack Long enough To allow my entire selfhood to enter Like a fish jumping back Into the night water
My Crows; Monody to the Murmuring Mountain; Clefting; On My Birthday & Off
The Weather; Seen Them; We’ll Catch Them
Lives, whole lives coming and going playing out their brief journey just like that
Missing but in the Margins; Even for a Poem; In the Time of Upside Down; An Accompaniment to Last Evenings
The hand that touched the paper That moved the ink with inner light.
Leaving the Long Weekend; Pale Grasp of Mist; Time-Space Share; Equatorial Illusions
Wish I could turn myself into these fata morganas, handfuls of sensations that sway me under down pours only dimly understood.
Four from Solitary
How much one can learn from inebriates! Lonely in the city of my birth, that kissing monster from adolescence plays lip roulette again, then vanishes into the dark.
The Skeptic’s Apocalyptic Back Scratcher; Po’ Boys; I Would Tap That; Elusive Quarry; About a Rocket
To scratch is to admit feeling,fingernails peeling, revealing sensation that no Zeno or Kant,Hegel or Lacan can recant,