Tuesday, March 31, 2020
THE LIGHT WHICH
The light which
fades does not
bring darkness
but sorrow.
Father, such
distance is
now beyond
us. Love is
always loss:
we know it.
And I shall
leave off this
grieving, that
I promise.
NOTHING IS
Monday, March 30, 2020
IT ALWAYS RHYMES
It always rhymes
with where your
breasts are,
in the teased
moment. O,
the loveliness
of this shore-
line, the waves
coming, the light
receding.
BETWEEN
Sunday, March 29, 2020
EVERY MORNING
Light like an
angel of air
or snowy owl.
The cold speaks
for itself,
says Winter,
says Turn back,
says Abandon
hope, ye who
would enter.
POET
Saturday, March 28, 2020
GHOSTS OF SNOW
THIS WORLD
The world
does not
love us
more than
it loves
itself.
See how
it takes
back what
we thought
was ours.
See how
we think
we've lost
what we
were owed.
See how
the world
does not
think like
we do.
The end
is not
the end,
though it
might be
the end
of us.
MAN WANTS
Friday, March 27, 2020
UNDERSTANDING THE POET
What is knowledge
and what wisdom?
What is that blue
and what the sky?
What the bush
and what the bird
which in it hides?
SKY RAGS
Thursday, March 26, 2020
CARE
NO LINE
Wednesday, March 25, 2020
HEAVY TRUCKS
HOME
Tuesday, March 24, 2020
SUCH LOW CLOUDS
Such low clouds,
the grey day.
An old friend
asks for you,
you go. Fog,
wind, miles, you
go. The years
fall away.
WITHIN
Monday, March 23, 2020
OLD POET'S LAMENT
THE RAIN
Sunday, March 22, 2020
AUTUMN-COLORED
Autumn-colored
leaves or
monarch butterflies
lifting.
It's either wind
or willfulness.
Distance
won't tell me
more than that.
ALONE IN THE DESERT
That's how it is:
the djinns calling,
wind becoming
a fatal kiss.
You stand under
that empty sky
and long for
something beyond
your knowing,
beyond the sky's
blue wisdom.
That's how it is:
the smell of death
just before death.
Saturday, March 21, 2020
THE TREE
OUR STARS
Our stars are
stars and more,
ticking towards
the end and
back towards
the beginning.
Our stars are
light and some
of them are
darkness already.
Our stars are
the stillness
in our hearts,
our hope for
something larger,
a wisdom
we can't yet
imagine.
Friday, March 20, 2020
HOW EMPTY
How empty
do you
have to be
for the desert
to speak
to you this way?
The wind
says it again --
nothing.
THEY WILL SAY
They will say
he wrote poems
about poetry.
Can he write
nothing else?
He will say
all poems are
about poetry.
Thursday, March 19, 2020
THIS DESK
THE ONLY / TRUTHS
The only
truths are few --
sky and light,
wind, water,
small creatures
moving in
the margins.
The sureness
of a good
woman. A
kind silence
from a friend.
All that love
must come to.
Honor them.
Honor
all of them.
Wednesday, March 18, 2020
BLUE SKY
CEMETERY
Tuesday, March 17, 2020
THE POEM
ALWAYS THIS PROBLEM
Always this problem: when
you move the horizon
moves with you. You never
see what might be farther.
It's still out there, moving
away. So pursuing
that which stays beyond his
reach is one good reason
for the boy growing up
to become a poet.
Monday, March 16, 2020
HER BREASTS
Sunday, March 15, 2020
POET'S HOPE
Saturday, March 14, 2020
HOUSES SET DOWN
Houses set down
where houses belong.
Lives lived as we can.
The darkness is great
yet all night
the yard lights burn.
Friday, March 13, 2020
I AM FILLING MYSELF
I am filling myself
so full of poetry
in these last years
that when I die
it won't matter
that I'm dead.
The hungry stars
will still get what
they need from me.
TO SAY
Thursday, March 12, 2020
HIGH, DRY SORROW
MUCH POETRY
Much poetry is
assertive and other
is just complaining.
If I could, I would
write a poem which
suggests, but what
you get is this.
Wednesday, March 11, 2020
JOHN ASHBERY'S POETRY
Ashbery does have much
to say, and he says it,
though little of it
inspires me to say
what I have to say.
AFTER THE NEW YEAR
Tuesday, March 10, 2020
NOT SO MUCH
Not so much
sand as stone
and baked black
earth, this great
emptiness.
The sound of
wind, the jinns,
promises
of water,
green life, and
something sweet
to eat. Which
direction
is the wrong
choice? All of
them. They all
lead to death.
AT THE NEW YEAR
First it was high autumn
on Christmas day,
then a deep cold and snow
for New Year's.
Sometimes the sun is bright
and the wind is quiet.
The birds are at their business,
as they always are.
The light recedes.
In your heart, the darkness
of every remembered sin.
You do not know what the world
intends, nor do you want to.
Monday, March 09, 2020
GUILLOTINE
I SPEAK AND
Sunday, March 08, 2020
SADNESS
Sadness is like a storm blowing
in from the west, a fierce wind through
the open window pulling at
the curtains and there is nothing
you can do against the darkness.
HE ASKS
Saturday, March 07, 2020
WHERE THE FIELDS END
A HAWK TURNS
A hawk turns, catches
the colors of fire.
Even in our dreams
we will remember
the light this morning.
Friday, March 06, 2020
EVERYTHING WE TOUCH
Everything we touch
touches us with the
touch of everything
that ever touched it.
It is all too much
for us to know, so
we must ignore it.
We must turn and turn
away. The shock of
it, the wonder, would
put us on our knees.
HAWK DROPS
Thursday, March 05, 2020
ONLY TWO
A WEIGHT OF SKY
A weight of sky
on us, the green
surge of earth,
call of the lonely
crow, the hope of
this early light,
this July morning.
Wednesday, March 04, 2020
SO MANY
So many
proud poems,
so many
poets claiming
ownership
of them, poems
I would never
have anything
to do with.
That's the way
the world
divides --
theirs and mine.
And I'll take
mine, the little
sad ones which
speak like me.
JULY BREAKS US
July breaks us
even at eight
in the morning.
The sun, I mean,
the beat down
of the season,
heat this early
in the day.
Even the birds
take refuge.
Even the trees
beg for mercy.
Tuesday, March 03, 2020
THE CRANES
CROWS AT 4 A.M.
Crows at 4 a.m.
already complaining
about the day.
The darkness shares
their anger, and none
can wait for morning.
Monday, March 02, 2020
THE BLOSSOM
EVERY POEM
Sunday, March 01, 2020
THE FINCHES
PERHAPS THERE IS
