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.
Poetry
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
Her Silence Has Visitors
Knocking on
polluted
eyelids
mossy
hour
still
slithering
in its
skin
window
blotting
reason
clouds
and
their colliding
air and
what it holds
feel its company
These Common Senses 