| I.
There is no such thing as a false start,
what could be more existent than a beginning ?
II.
I am committed to every small beginning,
each beginning is a little death.
III.
Ride west until you reach the sign for Rattlesnake Valley
where there is an emptiness--so empty-- that the red clay sand
makes it enough. How much do you really need
to get by ?
IV.
What the body takes, it returns in mysterious ways,
no Trinity or Holy Water, blessed forehead, bread
or wine--they are nothing more than bread and wine
to a tongue, the transformation occurs elsewhere.
V.
You fault believing in a day, in time, in history--
yours-- because those who tell it are faulty,
have been shaken by so many shards of life,
loves, deaths, forgetting. What lasts ?
VI.
When your head is fully submerged you can still hear,
even if it’s just water.
VII.
What part of choice ignites belief, love ?
VIII.
I have always loved driving
through dark tunnels, the way
headlights flash just fast enough
that you catch only
a fraction of light.
It’s even more reflective when holding your breath.
IX.
Time is always
where my body is not.
The way I fit, perfectly
when motion
stops.
X.
The necessity for metal is a sign
of aging.
XI.
You drape your shirt, a white weave with buttons,
across the chair, removing reason from the moon.
XII.
If I were blind would I still starve for beauty ?
XIV.
Form is never more than an extension of culture.
XV.
Sometimes it requires a letting go,
more than letting go allows.
XVI.
In the desert, leaves simply fall
from the trees, still green.
Their announcement un-debatable.
They become what they are
and then what they are,
just like that.
XVII.
Once you said, this is fire
everything is fire--
and still you hold your breath,
wait for it to dissolve or
burn itself to exhaustion.
I blow right at it,
wanting to be devoured.
XVIII.
Sleep and dreams do not always
arrive at the same terminal.
XIX.
In you I have traveled the lengths of where I being
and begin to end.
XX.
Sight replaces what sound promises.
XXI.
Little Copula,
those born under you sign
are plagued by blindness,
strong passion--which
arises first ?
XXII.
The freshly cut desert lilies
on the morning table
are leaning to the side of the house
where the sun is rising.
Their name, Hesperocallis,
means western beauty, as if they
too are rising for this life to set.
XXIII.
Silence is the only space
that cannot be owned,
stolen.
XXIV.
There is an odd desire for the things that don’t want us.
XXV.
You cannot touch an asking,
or fill a stomach with echo.
XXVI.
I want nothing
in owning
the everything of you.
XVII.
The morning will never stop leaving you.
XVIII.
Fire ants build shelter
from discarded particles
on banyan roots,
withstanding winds
even they hold together the unseen.
XXIX.
I water the hydrangeas
to watch the water disappear.
XXX.
Mother, you were always so diligently
black, your onyx heart loved me in ways
you never wanted to love yourself.
XXXI.
Who collects pennies from the fountains
when they are full? I want to be that
important, the man who lightens water.
XXXII.
You come home from work, loosen you tie,
walk room to room , leaving lights on
behind you, because there is no one
left to remember the places you
once were.
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