365
the writing (not on the wall)
in the wilting
news
is languid
year's
end
and
what can you do?
time's
up
watch
the garden die?
almost
as much fun as cricket
one
sits for a stillness here
and there
one
waits for planets to fall from the air
on the day of all bark fallen
there
must
have been a
breeze begun
we
are the wilting when it comes
it's over the rainbow
over the noon
where no cow jumps
wallow me shade in a shallow pool
there's still a risk of boiling
*
under the stairs
in the coolest corner
I
sought a place beyond words
the
way beyond the way
so
think till thought and thinking's done
that's a special swim
and
a salty soup
we
drink from the one mirage
we
sink
I
dream Antarctica again
heart's refuge in the true of dark
*
or Kvandal in the rowan forest
where
winter
has already
begun
over
the bridge to Lussand
the
sign says
moss
up to your ankles
a valley of shadows
bridge
like sprung bed
sags
in the middle
so
we bounce across
deeper into the cold and climb
*
what's memory
in the wilting?
birds
sing out forever
sun
gets the volume down though
balls
disappear in the garden down
far
each
is a world we have lost
as
on the billiard green
and
pocketed
like
stars
ink
floats in the mind
where
the words are past
we
just can't help that
*
the
world is a jagged thing up close
stand
off, it rolls around
it's
like that in the skin too
cells
burble on and in them
sub-molecular
atoms
smooth to touch
of someone smaller
must have been imagined
*
I
drip
on the page
fresh
out of the water
so
wanting to get back in
do
I
make my end where I began?
no,
I was in Andalucia
but
I had to imagine the heat from there
summer
was still in my southern bones
if this were any normal year
I'd be finished with it now
I'd always thought it was February
for the extra day
turns out it was an Olympic feat
the extra day was on again
every day for us
a poem, a picture
that's how we live
still and all...
time
to make some resolutions
the
writing's not on the wall
Engrossing Kit
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