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Poetry Friday

TO PURITY

I have heard so much about you

if you claim to be you
I will know it’s not true

if you say nothing I will listen
as I do
with my own
old mixed feelings
of hope and reservation

hearing through them
whatever might be you

the way I see
the white light from
the beginning
through the colors of the garden
through a face an eye

  — W.S. [...]

Poetry Friday

FOG

A vagueness comes over everything,
as though proving color and contour
alike dispensable: the lighthouse
extinct, the islands’ spruce-tips
drunk up like milk in the
universal emulsion; houses
reverting into the lost
and forgotten; granite
subsumed, a rumor
in a mumble of ocean.
                               Tactile
definition, however, has not been
totally banished: hanging
tassel by tassel, panicled
foxtail and needlegrass,
dropseed, furred hawkweed,
and last season’s rose-hips
are vested in [...]

Poetry Friday

NOW WINTER NIGHTS ENLARGE

Now winter nights enlarge
         This number of their hours;
And clouds their storms discharge
         Upon the airy towers.
Let now the chimneys blaze
         And cups o’erflow with wine,
Let well-tuned words amaze
         With harmony divine.
Now yellow waxen lights
         Shall wait on honey love
While youthful revels, masques, and courtly sights
         Sleep’s leaden spells remove.

This time doth [...]

Poetry Friday

COLD MORNING

Through an accidental crack in the curtain
I can see the eight o’clock light change from
charcoal to a faint gassy blue, inventing things

in the morning that has a thick skin of ice on it
as the water tank has, so nothing flows, all is bone,
telling its tale of how hard the night had to be

for any [...]

Poetry Friday

WORDS AND THE DIMINUTION OF ALL THINGS

The brief secrets are still here,
                             and the light has come back.
The word remember touches my hand,
But I shake it off and watch the turkey buzzards bank and wheel
Against the occluded sky.
All of the little names sink down,
                             weighted with what is invisible,
But no one will utter them, no [...]

Poetry Friday

NEVER GIVE ALL THE HEART

Never give all the heart, for love
Will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if it seem
Certain, and they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
For everything that’s lovely is
But a brief, dreamy, kind delight.

O never give the heart outright,
For they, for all smooth lips can say,
Have given their [...]

Poetry Friday

DRAWING FROM LIFE

Look: I am building absence
out of this room’s air, I’m reading suppositions into
summer’s script snarled on a varnished floor.
It looks like a man. That knot’s his hand
waving good-bye, that stippled stripe of grain’s
the stacked-up vertebrae of his turned back.
Small birds (sparrows or finches, or perhaps)
are cluttering the trees with blackened ornaments (burning
in the [...]

Poetry Friday

SLEEP DOOR

a light knocking on the sleep door
like the sound of a rope striking the side of a boat

heard underwater
boats pulling up alongside each other

beneath the surface we rub up against each other
will we capsize in

the surge and silence
of waking from sleep

you are a lost canoe, navigating by me
I am the star map tonight

all the [...]

Poetry Friday

MAY DAY

I’ve decided to waste my life again,
Like I used to: get drunk on
The light in the leaves, find a wall
Against which something can happen,

Whatever may have happened
Long ago—let a bullet hole echoing
The will of an executioner, a crevice
In which a love note was hidden,

Be a cell where a struggling tendril
Utters a few spare syllables [...]

Ode to the Bicycle

ODA A LA BICICLETA

Iba 
por el camino 
crepitante: 
el sol se desgranaba 
como maíz ardiendo 
y era 
la tierra 
calurosa 
un infinito círculo 
con cielo arriba 
azul, deshabitado.

Pasaron 
junto a mí 
las bicicletas, 
los únicos 
insectos 
de aquel 
minuto seco del verano, 
sigilosas, 
veloces, 
transparentes: 
me parecieron 

lo movimientos del aire.

Obreros y muchachas 
a las fábricas 
iban 
entregando 
los ojos 
al verano, 
las cabezas al cielo, 
sentados 
en los 
élitros 
de las vertiginosas 
bicicletas 
que silbaban 
cruzando 
puentes, rosales, zarza 
y mediodía

Pensé en la tarde cuando los muchachos 
se laven, 
canten, coman, levanten 
una [...]