181.
Infant voices shrill to cry for help
soaked by Niagara to understand
Canadian
the doctor complained I failed to
signal pain
fall deepest in love with whatever
you don’t know
release the sky from labor let the
light alone
something to steer by only one horse
on the island
this glass of water that I proved
ran through all the rivers of the
world to get to you
every word is an exaggeration
I saw a trickle of wine on the
Savior’s chin
I waited and everything revealed just
keep talking
those who saw her knew enough to look
away.
182.
There is another story I’m not
allowed to know
I’m reading one book the story’s in
another all the time
the Empty Story I need above all
deeds
the ordinary mind knows the story
best
the skeleton who sings the ribcage
knows how to think
o neurons mother of my little world
Hölderlin’s roses bloomed last month
some still linger
these gulls seem to be asleep as they
fly
like the swallows of Lacoste who
sleep all night in midair
where Mary of Magdala saw them first
and cried
so that her Husband looked up too and
spoke
everyone will rise again and none
fall back.
183.
In the garden of the undecided
raptors quick in surf to dive a
cormorant
quarrying the sea
the end of matter is an ardent
remember
words change their clothes for winter
a fugue is never far
it is an honest man who says such
things
refuted by the first green tide
merciful fog hiding colors in plain
sight
once a lost battalion stumbled on a
black lake
thousands of cranes in a pearly mist
and knew they had come home.
