Belonging wears no feathers

up early —

from everywhere,

grief;

a bright stain on the vision,

a frenzy for touch

pulsing out of stare of sun.

 

a swarm of laggard days

is sleeping now,

shimmering there.

all us shadows

(tottering, lost)

will come to find it.

 

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What Becomes of Desire

swollen black of bruised sky

thick fabric of want

noise of black thick black of noise

passers-by pass by

 

black sheet of night

far sound of a car radio

the curl of the turning sea –

all forms of withholding

 

and sighing –

wind went like a feather of breath.

And knowing

what becomes of desire.

Our Own

with our own hands

poetry

mirror

 

out of darkness

mouths

knew too much

 

live like this:

early

astronomers

 

like flame

then always

like flame

 

this manner is dance

unbridled

beyond artifice

 

flooded in sun

in a room

half-

 

familiar

recognize grief

as lost

 

 

We Saw This

We Saw This

down the damp-black streets
castled and cherried
walking away hard
hard as snow crust
signals went wrong
or died or turned
we crossed the road
beneath another day
another morning.
I stiffened with the wind.
I went home to summer,
glad of it.
Too rich, too bizare
murky morning
I turned to see how he ran;
absent-minded
flourished
listening.