115.
The priest slept through my
confession
so my words went straight to sky
the little sky inside the heart I
feel you here
the sentimental sinner cried the
ferry left
the harbor suffused with nightingales
from somewhere else
stop being continuous already the
truth is made of broken glass
rose petals we nibbled from the rocks
quotations from Montaigne a clamshell
cracked
a cardinal singing from what is that
an apple tree
the day left-handed the ragged sky
Guantanamo
clouds can only tell so much but more
than we
there is a cruelty in America we must
delete.
116.
Try against the cruel cry we have
rights but no right
what sunrise does to morning glass
you do to me
the sentimental agents spoil our feed
all that nostoc dripping from the
night
listen to the cupboard the dishes
tell the story too
the star-sperm settling slowly while
you sleep
and the cup left in the sink to soak
the herb stains out
each thing knows some part of the
situation
the battered hulk this boat you call
the truth
leaking its way from Portugal full of
opera singers
priestesses on hilltop canoodling
with the dawn
this vessel trembling in my civil
hands.
117.
This is the dawn of ceremony the
clement word
when all men and women open their
mouths and say
the truth that only they can know
each one a part of
we need them all we need them all to
speak
until every man and woman is a
prophet we know nothing
leave piety learn prophecy say what
you don’t know
each one has words enough to know
what he doesn’t know
they don’t all have to love you they
just have to speak
language will not really work till
everyone has spoken
then we’ll really learn what language
means
the secret god hid from herself when
no one created the world
back before even this argument our
life began.
118.
The hear of the message is
proportionate to the anatomy of the angel
or are there no numbers up there
or nothing but numbers in heaven
pause for breath even those who are
not breathing
she walks down the street and
everybody understands
that’s what a sky is for to trap the
light and spread it
so we can breathe, the wolf can prowl
the square perfect pixels make
everything unreal
unreal as it really is dream about me
in the long Pacific nights and I will
change
I will be whatever you intend I will
dig
gold plates out of your hill and give
them to you.
