Search

paths

how odd that we grow

up and down at the same time

when the wind airs spacious

those green spaces of nothing;

light — like a featherweight letterpress

inserts its needless nervous burn.

effusive through tendrils of life

and the places around it —

all the same paths, neural, organic

as webs are apophatic, beautiful.

oh, yes, the dirt in us is piling

and there’s no intention

but to weave deeper and find

the creeping things that

wind around our roots and feed us

and run an electric course

to blossoms at our fingertips.


how odd that we grow

out and in from the same place

that both in the round open

and hope to embrace a long line of

sojourners: they embark and branch

away and leave their roots exactly

where they ought to stay.

Recent Posts

See All

He moved across the forest They moved across the forest It moved across the forest moved across the forest elephantly. across the forest under the autumn star the azure trees the fruit of rippling way

that beauty shadows on the grass moon; hand; dance come alive, remember you, remembered reborn, we cannot sleep dreams have no answer but deep, close to the heart they say be seen, dream with one anot

The sun someday will be love again. The mountain someday will be sand. The land in the end will begin again, and flowers grow out of its hand. I remembered an ancient poem, held under the tongue of a