A Forest at MorningI dreamed of trees. Bright boughs and bloomsThrough gloom and morning spilledWhile I brushed back their silver leavesThat sunlit skies had filledWith gilded wash--the vermeil sightAbove the dusky barkSeemed starry trains above the moonAnd night's enclosing darkAnd I stepped under such a sky:New-formed, bejeweled, and brightAnd wished I could forever dwellWithin its dim half-light.There nothing stirred; no beast or birdDwelt in the forest thereThough I heard silent rivers trillStill wand'ring swift and fairThrough banks embraced by cattail roots;Through drooping willow leavesThat rustled in the water's rushBereft of any breeze.Oh, I stepped under such a skyComposed of darkling boughsFlushed with the swell of morning leavesAll silver-gold endowed'Till awe forestalled my reaching footAnd stilled the step, half-made--And oh! to breathe seemed mortal sinAs if each sound betrayedWhatever heaven I had found.But when I breathed at lastAnd put my foot upon the grou
Alive Like Dirt-Winter vanished, a dreamMinutes after having woken;The imprint and the linesStill crisscrossing the edgesOf thought, retreating at myTouch. It was important. I think. I thought.Though, I've lost it now. Am reeling now.I reached out, five distinctPoints forming a living symbol. A tool. Clutching.Catching the last flakes of snowBetween my forefinger And thumb,Like an angel thread seed.I looked at my hands once,At the neolithic lay linesCarved in the clay
Fishbowlborrowing,we breathe likenavy stripes on rice paperand life for us is onlycanary sidewalks andshorelines like thesoft soft curve ofyour parted lips,but a gentle stormis still a storm, andthis we know well.and what do you think we are made out of,star-flesh and street dust,molded slowly intospidery eyelashes and glowingstorm-frecklesand knuckles like crushed roses--art is a human thingeven when you crumpleinto the plush carpetto lie for daysand days anddays.[do not forget the things i tell you,liquid whispers on harsh nights--]we pluck nerves liketulips in a sensory garden,only for play andnever for work--daylightis an unwound tendonwrapped tight aroundwide wide dream eyes,glassy and knowinglike the whole ocean in a fishbowl;i tell you for the last time,i love you.