10 poems

I am made of shadow

asked to bring light

desert-yellow

endless light

*

I wish

to be free again

to forget

for a second time

            *

Shostakovich sits down

gets up

sits down gets up

Iosif is dead

            *

The encouragement

to sleep

a gift

like the gift of Time

            *

Bird’s breath

rolls from the shambling pine

crosses the unbroken pane

smells of air

            *

A handful of soil

candlewick

a boat bread some laughter

the living are just the dead waiting

            *

I hear you

cannot forget you

you are my brethren

warm-breathed

drawing me on

            *

Too much about death

write about life

I write about life

and the dead come

            *

Across the starred ceiling

comets run errands

new suns explode

someone cries out –

these aren’t stars

it’s not night

a cool dawn swims

in our arteries

            *

To write nothing

for the Institute of Nothing

poetry is a summons

to courage

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

Elegy

No gunshot, just a book

falling shut under the great grey wall-

a ribbon of silk burning dimly,

bivouacked silence

and the blue-headed conscripts

pushing thumbs into the meat of their palms,

a pencil-trace of cloud and treasonous leaves,

indigo, matriarchs and knives,

the leprous planes, park benches,

benedicted, amok children, the scent of camomile

and sweet tedium, somewhere a keening band,

gaping church mouths, this mushroom-flecked

dregs of an unseasonable Sunday morning.

Last updated Feb 2012