Iridium bar 2.jpg

Iridium

“...he had a pair of binoculars and, back in San Francisco, during the intermission from his playing at the Jazz Workshop, we’d walk ten blocks to a field down by the freeway, and he’d start looking at the stars. He knew where the Milky Way was and everything.”
Louis-Victor Mialy on John Coltrane

for Shay

1

Upstairs someone’s mama is pretending/so a man she knows will give her money
A man whose grandfather owned her people/gone and took their names
Downstairs someone sits with his aunt meeting/the wooden rictus grin of Europe
With a touch that makes the hammers say/Didn’t She Ramble in the key of blue

The key of work Of the chained men looking/day after day for a pulse to ride
The key of the sisters at the night meetings/passing out with joy
His aunt’s fingers finding something/new between the black and white bars
Strange and unlikely as love beyond shaming/As a market where people are sold

What’s your name honey he hears her asking/that sweet thing on the other side
Of the wood and wire She’s forgotten/everything else in the room
The man with his mother spoke to him once/He plans to disfollow his counsel exactly
 Learn a decent living Don’t spend your life/fooling around with a horn

2

Someone else is in F and it’s raining/and makes him think he’s by himself
As if the woodshed weren’t so crowded/you can hardly hear yourself think
He pretends he’s alone so he won’t see/what the laughing captain is teaching the others
What someone taught the captain What/someone’s mother’s face said when she came downstairs

Is it winter or spring He can’t remember/Or what he promised the night he would do
Or the turns in the river of oblivion mapped/up and down his arms
He likes it there Where he forgets/the body he can’t inhabit or escape
And the bodies of the others he forgets/behind the rented room’s locked door

He dreams he’s walking a plain between armies/Listening in his bare feet
Where blown conches and drums make young men/do what they wouldn’t otherwise do
When he nods half awake his fingers are making/their blurred trained way through the rhythms
He’s thirsty So he has to sit up/and open his eyes and breathe

He’s playing scales and sweating What feels like/sickness comes as forgetting fades
He’s playing scales but he’s hearing bells/at the ankles of dancers with chain scars there
Playing geese caught in a net screaming/One body divided into voices
At the corner of a street he forgets and Columbus/Bells of shuffle dancers in the rain

He’s sick but he can’t stop just yet Up and down/in the tracks of the map his dream made
Remembering his aunt’s touch Forgetting/what his country taught him his body is
In his arms a curve of metal translating/breath into horses in a bolted barn burning
In his eyes the last drift of forgetting but he closes them/In his mouth a slip of cane

Wet and bound by the ligature/Supple and tight enough to sing
At the touch of his tongue To call to the flipper/gate at the thumb of his left hand
On the gold neck His right low on the body/as if guiding the opening of the bell
Where something sweet with no name keeps/pressing Trying to get through

3

First dust He gathers it in the bell/In the wrong light you could mistake it for gold
Or the flecks of a meteor passage sifting/into Friday afternoon
In a locked room with a window a little/open to traffic and the gray street shining
Wet In the woodshed In daylight Ransacking/the chords that woke him up in the night

Dust Swirling As it coalesces/he starts to taste what he’s thirsty for
And leans into the pull of it Singing/a heathen song in a foreign land
You could mistake for home if you listen/to a son of slaves sweating in his boxers
Making lightning like the first white fire/on the cherry branches in the park across the way

He’s lost something The raisins in his pocket/remind him as he plays the labyrinth
Back to the vineyard When he gets to rock/he turns and comes back another way
Architect Undoing the harmony bindings/Unfolding the silk to find the seed
Back to the field Where he closes his eyes/to watch a fox on fire running through

Four-note patternsTwelve ways till Sunday/One lifetime in each of the keys
Leaving notes to answer the question/What you gonna do when the world’s on fire
Dissolving the citadels Hushing the sentries/Filing the locks from the silos of grain
Notes in the fractures Gathering Dispersing/Finding the next question Didn’t it rain

And Ain’t that a witness To the scatter of settlements/The facet break of the pyramid tombs
The king’s body returned to the earth/and the limestone forams to the sea
The villagers dancing in the palace footprints/designed to match the footprints of the stars
The slave quarters The walls of segregation/dust under wanderers’ feet

He rides the rails inside the mouthpiece/to the delta marsh huts made of reed
Playing down the towers So the sick/heal The hungry eat The dead sing
Listening for the messenger’s signature/left between the limestones in a seam
Iridium Sign of the great dying/and birthplace of its refugees

Up to the troposphere Down to the mantle/He finds dust and plays the monuments broken
With the scavenger resourcefulness/of the remnant who return
Nodding and leaning Like washing clothes/on a rough rock kneeling at the edge of a river
Up and down the ziggurat terraces/Finding Dispersing Closing the gates

As he makes the neighborhood sound Joining/his river of notes to the river outside
To the river his mothers were taken from/To the river just above his head
Friday afternoon hiding it He lays down/the approaches and opens the bays
And walks across the bridge to the black place/And back And again Practicing

4

First nothing Just the time and in/No introductions Lovers can’t wait
As if there were no such thing as a stranger/or division or beginning or end
Four men on a bandstand island/with water coming up at the edges
Making ark proclamations Watching/each other’s faces to make the flood swing

Closing their eyes when the vortex pageant/makes them laugh or moan or dizzy
Handing around the ember Forgetting/who follows and who leads
Where you been man What kept you Leaning/into the places they friction and fit
Tight like that Union meeting in the village/to find those last lost notes

Left in the crevices of the project Looking/with hammers and leather and gut and reed
Practiced hands and lips pressed to it Breathing/open the message envelopes
Losing the pulse and back to its shifting/moorings Testifying from the stand
Glances to say That’s my boy He’s a beauty/isn’t he This band is burning tonight

Four men chained together working/the strewnfield Playing the mysteries
Of a night in a minute A nomad’s shelter/Captivity songs pointing to free
The mystery of a place too narrow/but they make one body and find a passage
The mystery of provision in famine/Of four lost men found in the same time

Half the house half asleep at the altar/or arguing and walking away
But then the smooth line of a grown woman’s voice/taking a chorus Come on Bring it home
A night way to say I hope to shout glory/when this world’s on fire And Abide with me
Calling to the quartet searching the high place/with pools of sweat at their feet

Saturday night in the upper partials/into Sunday via brothel psalms
In the night club with its chits for oblivion/Its smoke and chatter Its owners to please
Another line skitters in Are they brothers/or lovers Arguing in their whisky dream
You lied to me You lied to me/Man I don’t recognize you

On the street after it’s late or early/Pulled grates and a dropped box of eggs
Flattened into shadow Two rows of six/a few feet from the kitchen door 
The milk crates where the dishwashers sat/on offclock breaks to smoke and eat
On the blue mailbox ledge curves of ripped orange peel/and half the globe of fruit

Four in the morning After the rain/they impersonate individuals again
Walking Clothes wet with the miracle/The wind lifting swirls of dust
Around the caged trees just past blossom/It gets on their shoes as they separate
The cold spring’s recombinations/Part soot and part gold green

5

They’re in D minor and he doesn’t tell them/any words or where the song came from
In the studio Tucking the messages/in envelopes to keep
First stumbling together His supple mournful/calling over dark fields as they hold him
With thunder In the toms In the gut strings’ memory/In the piano’s left hand

It’s always a translation He doesn’t/tell them the text yet so they can stay
In the sweet place together a little longer/In the galaxy of notes
Time-bound but in unbreakable circuit/Touching eyes Soaking their clothes
Reading each other’s shoulders to signal/a turn To say I’m done You go

It carries them They carry each other/held in its meshesWalking the song line
Held soft as milkweed silk/and hard as crucible steel
Opening the envelopes brought by the visitors/Pockets full of tektite amulets
They touch when he tells them the title precinct/A song for four Alabama girls

Gone With something to say to every/safety and to every division
To the four men crouched in the church basement/Sunday before dawn
Beside Pull them crackers out of bed/and kill them with axes in the middle of the street
Four other men Grown Leaving other messages/for their children’s children they won’t see

Didn’t She Ramble What they carry/as they leave the burning building together
A way to live To make relations/To make the march from the graveyard swing
It carries them They carry each other/When one breathes the others move
With you They say it three ways and he answers/You stay near me I can do anything

One with his brow gathered in fury/One showing only the keyboard his face
One swooning in the holy cathouse/joy of it Catching his lip in his teeth
One making the Sunday mothers not there/call Tell it Yes Yes Speak
Call to the men who took their daughters/Nothing you can do to take this

6

Someone’s making the woman upstairs happy/As if she had the dawn robins in her throat
Telling the good news when the morning/remembers to come back and find us again
Someone’s making something so sweet/she forgets the words Someone who loves her making her
So she can’t help it Higher now Showing/late Monday afternoon her real face

In the form of a sheaf of notes Someone waits/till she begs In a line of silk and dirt
Line bent in an arc of Where you been honey/Rainbow all the way down to the street
Where the gutbucket meets the stratosphere Someone/human making her call God
Invitation to the Andromeda ringshout/summoned when she takes off her clothes

Someone’s holding her in the labyrinth/In the places no one can go alone
Making her stutter whisper in the danger/and forget all the directions and names
Someone’s taking her to the border city/called Out of This World Where she can’t stay
Her voice broken with the joy of it/Someone’s taking her there and bringing her home

 

 


Kiln

from Iridium

 

“This free look...emerges from a projection of the intimate, and treats each piece of our reality as a way of breaking the traditional vision, in this case the exterior vision, under the enchantments of alienation...In this way, interior vision is revelation, and revolutionary.”
Jean Bernabé, Patrick Chamoiseau and Raphaël Confiant
 In Praise of Créolite

for Regina

1

Your grave is the river Where the rockweed lifts/in currents part salt Part poison Part sweet
Where your son knelt on your birthday in April/to lower your ashes in a paper boat 
Where your ancestors mutter in Cherokee/and from the lost forests inland from Dakar 
Arguing over the fouled compact of Manhattan/beside my ancestors who betrayed them

Is this why you haven’t come to visit/Why I haven’t seen you since Valentine’s Day
The last of your eyes Last conversation/Last kiss and another as I turned at the door
Relax I said Meaning Go ahead and die/Just before last turn into last silence
Did I leave something unsaid or undone/Then or that last long night by your bed

When your son left and winter pressed the black windows/It had snowed The world’s getting white someone said
One afternoon and your lover no longer/your lover laughed Not all white I hope
He smiled and apologized His eyes on mine/The only blue eyes in the room
That guarded your last walk Taking off your clothes/The watch unclasped from your fever wrist

Your wrist less the color of the galaxy/than the color of Malabar cinnamon burned
Mine less milk than flecked pink granite/The nurses couldn’t see we were both red
The color of the revolution dream I love and you/mistrusted Of the rape at our foundations
Of last dawn after the last movement/of your breathing The color of fire

Your hands hot and damp and unresponsive/Slack on the reins of the fever mare
After days of your firm grip even in sleep/Fear of leaving Fear of your body burned
The large strong hands you shaped and painted/Beside mine Delicate Chipped Unattended
Bare in your sunroom repotting the jasmine/I gave you Gloved later to mulch dying trees

Your fingers resting on my forearm in a meeting/a moment too long As never in your kitchen
Or your car or your bedroom Or one hand on my shoulder/long enough for our colleagues to turn
And frame us there My hand raised to hold yours/Behind me Where I couldn’t see your face
Just the faces of those seeing us together/Stirred surreptitious puzzled joy

5I slept beside you reading Gilgamesh/even after I’d closed my eyes
Scrawling notes while your delicate handwriting/retreated into your fingers and disappeared
What’s that you asked one of those last days/The book’s back broken from searches and falling
It’s a poem about someone whose friend dies I said/And then he has to walk a long way

Is he all right thenYou were falling/Your vivid eyes flashes under fluttering lids
You hated the ocean The wave sounds scared you/when I brought them for your first hospital stay
The tide of the morphine pulling you under/I couldn’t remember the other drugs’ names
Scourge I called what they poured in the port/in your chest For healing For years

The years of rehearsing before the performance/of the days without you Broken meals Broken sleep
Trying like the moon to cleave to the vastness/To touch the river without looking down
Trying to teach myself to love/all of you except your body Failing
Your hand in mine as you struggled in the waves/Yes he’s all right Go to sleep I said

2

At the supermarket in the winter for your steaks/when the poison paled you For my Irish tea
Arguing over the transitworkers’ strike/I cheered and you disapproved
You a young woman in the revolution/whose sweat and smoke I could smell as a child
You whose mother said Don’t come home/when you stopped straightening your hair

You who went to school to learn to walk/with a book on your head To be a lady
Later adding the locks son and lover/cut to cheat the poison The slight cowboy swagger
With which you moved past the meat counter/Past the pint splint baskets of dates
Before the drug poled your raft across the barrier/The thin blanket over your swollen feet

In the line you asked if I remembered/how much the dates cost and I laughed Like asking
The temperature of a moonrise The width of a baby/I can tell you how they smell I said
Lifting the little basket to her face/As she turned and gave them the roll of her eyes
She gave transitworkers striking and her son/not eating when the girl he loved went away

I can tell you how sweet and I tore one half open/with my teeth In the supermarket at the edge of the city
At the edge of the confluence of the rivers where we lived/with a diesel-choked bridge between
The cashier startledYour face in its guarded/radianceThe silk bed where the date pit rests
I can tell you how beautiful they are I said/Getting out the money Not looking at you

3

Trapped on the bridge Summer Sunday traffic/He of the city between two rivers
Your driver’s grace with nothing to do/The city walls interrupted by gates
You already sick but only a little/In the king’s body the people’s splendor
Balancing the cup of death on your head/By the walls shards of cups the people had made

In the morning balancing a hymnal between us/The god who coaxed him to be her lover
On our way to your back yard to feast/The builder of walls scorning her
You were praising your grandmother’s collards and chicken/Who walked into hell to find her sister
And remembered an icebox on the Carolina porch/At each of the seven gates taking off her clothes

On a porch in Carolina when your mother left/My friend who endured dangers beside me
To work in the north and crazy with grief/I have lost acquaintance with sleep which is sweet
You broke the laws of love and transit/Oh terrible torrent that destroys the bulwarks
And they put you in the box and shut the door/Tear down your house and build a boat

It was as tall as me you said/Her sister carried down for use and pleasure
As we scattered fossil horses and branches of dates/Walls gleaming like copper Kiln-fired brick
Of ancient Mesopotamia as ash/Who took the girls in the sheep meadows
Over the river your ashes would travel/And took the shepherds as slaves

Which began to explain the blank look on your face/Ashes of a Sabbath village
In the years when you worked at the women’s jail/Ashes of Nineveh become Mosul
And someone from outside would ask/Two rockets fired Two rockets we paid for
Why do you feel at home there/With the pilot Makers of children’s graves

Steaks and watermelon Under the crabapple/The gate of grief sealed with pitch and bitumen
Whose place is marked by a scar now/How he said to the god who touched him Why be
Guard that afternoon of two women laughing/The god who protects the city with her thighs
Under whose shade we ate our red feast/your lover unless you belong to me

Praise to your hatred of chains and confinement/The shepherds in the king’s prisons
Praise to the joy of watching you eat/Honey and butter for his dead friend
To the last night of lying beside you watching/From whose body he could not part himself
Last closing of each of your body’s gates/Who wandered in the skin of a lion then

Your left eye with its skeptical brow raised/The god who touched him God of ecstasy
Your right before blurring clear as a star/God of the blind wisdoms of night
Your mouth before parching tender and guarded/God of the body’s longings and limits
The port in your chest because arm veins would burn/God of flesh God of fucking God of perish God of fire

The gates of your ears where a woman is singing/God of a voice unbound in the darkness
The gates of your nostrils the last to close/How during the crossing he held up his shirt
For your piss For your shit The gate of your cunt/to the mast to catch the least breeze
Like a sail Where the ravagement started Into the kiln/God of the lifespark God of the kiln

4

You dreamed we were walking in the woods in snow/By the little house where we didn’t live
At the end of a curved path Windows of garden/A mesh fence to keep the deer away
I can still see your hands retying the fastenings/Walking as in calmly Woods as in safe
And not Little house as in frame As in question/Deer as hunger Didn’t live as in didn’t live

I dreamed you wrote me a letter I couldn’t/openYour name and return address
Along the ruled envelope path/traveled by your tongue
Letter as in sealed place Couldn’t as in standing/beside you with my hands behind my back
Name as in bringing yourself to say/not your name but It’s me To call me Girl

You dreamed we were walking by the river with your sister/Our skin marked by our fathers’ hands
Listening to Bill Evans whom someone called/the slowest suicide in the world
I dreamed we were swimming The June dazzle/The little chop cuffs The foam churn at the break
How my daughter went under and I fished her out/by the back of her suit But not you

In this dream we’re sitting in a club downtown/Side by side so I can’t see your face
And a woman’s voice made of smoke and honey/is the path to a little house of her own
 Your mama and daddy say Once I asked/Would you like to be disreputable with me
 But long as I got you by my side I don’t/care what your people say

Your people as in church now but kept outdoors/before As in diving shackled from the deck
My people as in no rum enough to drown it/As in birth to death in oblivion dream
A woman’s voice as in the keys/to a place we could dance close and slow
As in mother As in sister As in lover As in/Come on in my kitchen It’s rainin outdoors

5

The moon’s our chaperone tonight as we stand/in the unfurnished room that will be the place
Of no rest and lost balance and counterfeit letters/and dancing alone when you’re gone
No lamps yet Just the changeplaying industrial/wanderer making her bound circuit
Which is not bound I am not learning this/but I can’t take my eyes off of her

The color of a crabapple petal It blooms/for a minute you said Careful or you’ll miss it
The color of the cornmeal I gave you/the day after your grandmother died
The color of the reams of blank paper/I hauled from your attic when you were discarding
Of the milkweed in the poisoned meadows/between us The lights on the bandaged bridge

The color of the jasmine blossoms opening/sweet in the dark over quarrels and traffic
She’s scattering jasmine over the rooftops/Over the river and the little boat
Knocking in the rockweed Little boat that did/and did not hold you Put your bed here
You said with jasmine where your shirt met your skin/Little boat that isn’t there

Jasmine blossoms like the stars later/I lay on the bed to worship through binoculars
The big dipper swinging low that first spring/When the sun come back Lush chariot
 If I get there before you do/Each rivet flickering cruciform Breathtaker
 I’ll cut a hole and pull you on through/Like a window into a world of white fire

6

Someone dead was playing a guitar/like he might stop the train if he bent the notes
Sweet Or if not stop it/maybe get it to turn
Or maybe get her to say his name/Or wake the dead Wake himself
Tapping the steel strings like crab claws/tapping the bottom of the sea

In a new season The first summer without you/Past the bay lapping the ferry dock
Past blackberries and rabbits in the thickets/Someone playing I Ain’t Got No Home
At the end of a path made of mistakes/Of potsherds Like Job’s to scrape himself
When one god said to another Behold/He is in thine hand

Someone I knew another April/Playing a birthday song in the dark
For his wife and their daughter curled inside her/Three weeks late to be born
His wife looking for the sweet bend now/in clay Two potter’s barns on the point
Who that first summer without him sold/his guitar to buy a kiln

The researchers’ boats come back to the harbor/with mud for her From the KT Boundary
Grand Bahama Banks Emerald Basin/The Kane Fracture Zone The Bering Sea
From core samples to study the weathers/of forty million years ago
Before our caul of combustion began to make/dying She makes glazes

That branch in the kiln like the branches of lungs/Of the paths of blood Of rivermouths
The shell bodies of ancient crustaceans/fusing with the bodies of vessels made stone
I put my hand in a bucket of slurry/from winejars in a Phoenician wreck
The hand I kept in my pocket walking/Looking for missed notes from you

Touching something you gave me A cowrie/brought back from a beach in Mombasa
My thumb along lobes smooth as porcelain/Along the ragged edges of the cleft
Someone’s castoff carapace/I gave you chestnuts and acorns and jasmine
Nothing that would last the furnace/Nothing that would stay

Forty million years lightly on the lip/of a cup Along the neck of a vase
Carapaces tapping in the brush grit/The damp white vessels waiting in the dark In the kiln
Like the Manhattan Project pile/Black bricks and timbers The messenger
 The Italian navigator has landed in/the new world and the natives are friendly he said

Two foundries One to chain the sun/to do war work Dividing Dividing
One where a woman tired as a new mother/watches at the spyhole for red
Her eyes relaxing into blackness Licks of flame/from the burner ports but these a distraction
First perceptible red a sign/that it’s safe to let the heat go

Dull red to cherry to orange to gold/to too much dazzle for naked eyes
Your foundered comrade tipping on the path/dizzier still after looking in
Magma to lava to rock to mud/to melt radiance As if the cups were dancing
As your cowrie in my pocket on/a calabash might have been

7

It’s a trysting place By the mulberries/Your old view from the bridgeYour new address
The rubber wrappers on wet grass in the mornings/at the edges of your grave
When your son and I walked there before your birthday/he told me where he took his girls
On the other side Doing our dirt he called it/Looking away His shy smile yours

His mother between worlds who held herself/like someone balanced on a narrow ledge
The line of her jaw when white men in Brooklyn/leaned from cars asking if she wanted work
The ache there after long nights when her sister/came to tell what happened to them both
The sister balanced on narrowness/then walking across the river just ahead

The gates of her heart stuttering with the letter/a neighbor sent calling her filth Subhuman
The heat of her liver webbed with channels/for the processing of bile
The kidney I saw Under occupation/Exhausted from the filtration of poisons
Her lungs trying to work in the whirlwind/Her breath stopping there

My moral paragon Refraining from murder/Teaching her classes on deviance
On the price of resistance Teaching her son/to be a man not entranced
By unmaking Sitting under the crabapple looking/for words Considering the subversive Turning
Away Your hands like your mother’s/but your fingers stained with ink

The moon’s rising and traveling/the length of your grave tonight Moving with the grace
With which you stood from the last litter/and bent at the last ambulance gate
The moon not really rising but turning/in its dance with the turning earth
And its solitary walkers and outside/lovers with no other place

8

The burned skin of your shoulders fusing/The selling of possessions just before famine
With the moment’s burn of the hospital dress/The doves he kept all his life Then the cage
You and not you in a bed not a bed/Avenues of dead date palms Sending forth the birds
Under the arch of firebrick/after the deluge of war made by kings

The burning temple of the salt on your skin/The grapes in the garden of the Basra doctor
The contractions to get you born again/wasted The Americans’ uranium shells
The fire your accomplice Raising your arms/No analgesicsThe mothers waiting
To ransom you back to the infinite/in a line at the hospital at the end of the road

Last unguent Last transfusion/The sound of bullets like the sound of traffic
Last reining Last weariness/The Nineveh constabulary report
Last word of your daughter’s quarrel with your country/Babylon is fallenThat great city
Last Where do you belong Whose are you/The voice of harpers heard no more in thee

You and the fire Jasmine petals and sepals/And he shall rule them with a rod of iron
The backbend of the bud to permit/The word for shepherd and the word for scourge
The little trumpet calyx shaped like a whirlwind/How she wants to meet the American pilot
To open/who made a pasture a kiln

The incomplete combustion of carbon/The great whore that sitteth upon many waters
Making ash The temperature ramp and the flood/The waters peoples Nations Tongues
You and I in your car playing music and laughing/Made drunk with the wine of her fornication
Your cough The imbricate wall of your lung/A golden cup of filth in her hand

Your skier’s kneesYour thighsYour hips/As the vessels of a potter broken
That knew how to find and praise a drum’s beat/Inquisition and punishment How he kills
Arms crossed on your chest sleeping beside me/the cedars and the bull and bombs the electricity
Your breasts in black lace in every hospital room/My beloved friend has turned to clay

But the lastYour lipsYour visiting sister/Shall lament when they see the smoke of her burning
Who’s just seen two women kiss in a play/The woman thou sawest That great city
Us kiss and kiss till us can’t kiss no more /So much torment and sorrow give her
I don’t remember that from the book she says/For she saith in her heart I sit a queen

Your hair you didn’t wash to let the locks grow/The braided rope that can’t be broken
The decomposition of granite to clay/How when his friend dies he moans like a dove
Abraded clay to dust To the dirt/And upon her forehead a name written  Mystery
In your hair before the wasting Like meteor fragments/Unbroken from the unbroken braid

Your eyes and the vortex has all of you now/The cups’ voices How they sing if you touch them
Little boat of the bones of your brow stripped/lightly A way they recognize
Little boat of fractals Transfigured dazzle/How they call the new one Determined To Awaken
In every cleft Every rift Every fissure /Angel One Who Has Entered the Stream

9

Two sheaves of daffodils wrapped in paper/So much radiance for six dollars
Someone told me someone left her/twenty on the doorstep and they froze
She put them in a baking dish on their sides/Heads out of the water and tails in
And an aspirin and when she woke up in the morning/all but four had decided to live

For you For the rocks by your little boat’s mooring/that isn’t a mooring How sweet the sound
Of you dancing with the implicate order/Music in the wounds of grief
Discussing the first law of thermodynamics/while I lean on the mulberry remembering
Your face listening to a woman singing/I Want A Little Sugar In My Bowl

Remembering you most part of this earth/in your ecstasy when the making got good
The spring of you in the well of my seeing/part of the river now
Remembering you at the place you’ve made home/The place of transit at the mouth of the rivers
Remembering you artful Intent Private / Cackling   There/Here   Found    F r e e

 

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