143.
Every work must be cosmology before biography
but the dinky little bits of life
come in too
I tell you you are you and what can
you contest
the lawn needs a shave it’s Sunday
and no bells
the mathematics of the wind mathom
is treasure
rises when the sea heats up long
after dawn
everything tends backwards witchcraft
was no religion
we knew the things before we knew the
knowers
now float rudderless paradise a lake
not a garden
a well ensouled by circumstance
the ash we find after a stranger’s
bonfire on the beach
the old lost word that once meant
god.
144.
Of course still worry about these
things
the wind wants in
wind carries in its lap the seeds of
sleep
mind in sleep renews its contract
with the earth
the dance we call dream, that
forgetting thing
there is no natural end to nature
hence all the busy carry up the hill
higher as if wiser so the sea forgets
us
brass doorknob warm from the sun
going in
how many times does a house get born
the sea’s ceaseless baptism of the
shore
and still we live in sin elves
without a hill.
