dawn rose punctual, on time
as usual for a minute

clouds do not dance with the earth and the land until they are burdened

How odd to have faith in a circle
Open enough to uncrowd us.

his hooves
have ground the sand before

Even as it empties now,
Countless happy accidents

What speaks only through crookedness
From one place to another

The roses are not fretful. They become
A symbol of how it has gone;

Into your eyes they forged the misconception
You would be something more

above this grave of whale,
above this grace they navigate
no further than their sails.

Each ecstasy I carry aims toward the clarity
of heaven. Light by light

tomorrow
is endlessly flawed,
more vacuous love — than a why

Life isn’t easy when you’re dead,
there’s always a thirst

goes on without you, what
will not come back
to the moment before

About the Lakes, there is quietness,
a sense of dislocation;

rise with me from darkness, then give me your hold in the birthing

love spins between
two bodies, top & bottom, the beautiful,

There is a place in isn’t,
that is not, nor ever was,
what is

C:\Documents and Settings\God>_
C:\Documents and Settings\God> I am

It happens as the eyes expand,
these slits of time, un-focus,
as everything grows winking,
or magically comes, half alive.

It is not a careless weight
Within each death beneath you,
The laying down of arms.

Outside the dust beyond one window. Outside,
room & wall, divides,