on the glass river says
If only I could get down it alone —But you are getting down it alone…
Thirsty! I drink
from my own well
the red and blue fire
around my head
this minute
vanishing I
befriended with it
Two Poems for Matthew Shepard
But what about the blue dory—the soul
—Thief the sun Thief the rain
Into love
the size of a silver dollar
[the soul] disappeared
to a pencil point then
nothing.
Left
his nails
and his hair.
The Blue Dory, the Soul
—I left the blue dory
there had been so much news
so many flashbulbs breaking
up the dory
so many people
following their names
eating their third heavy car
their third book
I left the blue dory
on its hip on the fence
left my soul not “mine”
“my” clothes off
I left the edges of “my” face
“my” hands
The Rally
The rally is about a young black man
His tongue has been cut by a razor
the tops of his ears have been cut off
My clothes my bag
my money my papers
It's
the young man
My palms
my soles
It's
the young man
your silent invisible body here at the door
your glance
The Growing Christ of Tzintzuntzan
Come in
at the narrow door, and then
go back, but
not yet—
Lie down,
head to my bandaged head, foot
to growing foot,
I am so tired, too,
in my glass box.
Sheep
With the winter and mud and shit roped into your wool,
Your black stick legs, blank eyes—
The farmer stumps home to his supper
And you are beyond your own bells
And my friend is in pain and there's nothing I can do,
Suffering is everywhere intense, and if
We make our own pain ourselves, who can help it? Cold selves, Cold you, unbearable clamor and rust—
To the Bardo
I dreamed I finally got through to C on the phone
he was whispering
I couldn't make out the words
he had been in the hospital
and then in a home
M was sick too
You know how in dreams you are everyone:
awake too you are everyone:
I am listening breathing your ashy breath
old Chinese poet:
fire:
to see the way
Rodney Dying (4)
A woman was picking up the plastic
forks and napkins in a plastic box
I was sitting on the grass floor leaning
against your knees: Under the ground
I sat down on the floor and embraced your knees.
*
Door in the Mountain
Never ran this hard through the valley
never ate so many stars
I was carrying a dead deer
tied on to my neck and shoulders
deer legs hanging in front of me
heavy on my chest
People are not wanting
to let me in
Door in the mountain
let me in
Monarch butterfly
Monarch butterfly,
dip your hand
in the wooden box
of papers on my back
and open me Take
the hand inside the hand
I'm struggling to leave:
Let my hand play!
My old body
My old body:
a ladder of sunlight, mercury dust floating through—
My forgivenesses,
how you have learned to love me in my sleep.
Inkwell daybreak
| Inkwellstairway | daybreak |
| stairway |
Dear girls and boys,
would you go with me and tell me
back to the beginning
—so we can understand!
the journey of our lives
where we met with cruelty
but kindness, too,
and nosed up out
of the cold dark water,
and walked on our fins…
The path between
The path between the