Winter 2010, Fall 2018

Posted February 6, 2025

my hand was red where I grasped the apple
I knew better than to cut toward myself
with a knife so sharp it was gentle
eight years later I dreamed I dug my way out
from the crimson roots of a cathedral
hands stained red again this time with dirt
digging until I stood in a miraculous well
surrounded by acres of green and silver
grasses but back then the prick of red
from my finger tasted like transubstantiation
the apple fell close enough to my head
it was the first thing I saw after I blinked
and felt the ceiling lift a decade later
when I retrieved my sword from the stone
in which I left it I anointed it with smears
of unseeded blood naked I struck it
into earth cut the ring of promise and called
beneath tall pines that bright blade my child

Warm March Moon, 2023

For S.

I do not expect
to find you beneath
the living branches
of the tall oak tree
who told you her name
when I go to say
you will not again be visiting

but this does not mean
I do not sit on the bench
beside the little league fields
for a long time searching
for the big dipper
waiting quietly for you
to contradict me

May Music

February 6, 2025

now or a few thousand years later
kneeling for a lover does not stop
helping me remember god is a stranger
still pauses me inside my wonder
to reconsider the location of heaven
divinity has always been
far less far from humanity
than some preachers like to pretend
it is always sad old men in the Bible
asking an angry god to forgive
it takes another human mouth
to kiss this being better
locked doors are no obstacle
when there is a trellis to climb
and a conspirator on the inside
to catch me over and into
that secret courtyard where jasmine
tucks itself into all the stars

Ariadne

February 6, 2025

in the grave
of wishing for things
I found myself
rummaging
in each hand I weighed
the value of a dream
our infinity
is the kind contained
between two points
in the center
of a thumbprint
I chose to believe
the man I blessed
with my gold thread
would not betray me
my dancing floor
tired of only
being home
to a Minotaur
I wanted a man
with soft feet
used to sandals
to walk all over
me not as if
I were a step
to glory
but the low sand
struck by lightening
the low sand
where the waves
meet the pearls
close to the place
the sand mixes
with the pine needles
but though
he was a prince
I learned
like most princes
he did not keep
his promises
my cliff was steep
but then back set
against the wind
another came
to me patient
and crowned
in vines
I find
I prefer him
this my own
man who flickers
like fire
who knows the weight
of grapes
who even
when he drinks
never leaves me
his dark hair
his soft hair
like sheltering branches
sunlight spotted
like morning across
the skin
of sleek leopards
sometimes
the role of one man
is simply to
lead us to a better one
perhaps less
obviously heroic
but kinder
and brave
down to his bones
one who knows
like mine does
how to be
torn apart
and with hands
with lap
with mouth how
with a gold thread
of kept vows
to stitch
a soul together
a party boy
with insides
the color of compassion
who was raised
like a girl
and wears
wine like lipstick
my own Dionysus
kisses like ichor
who keeps company
with theater kids
and raving women
who prefers
the shade of forests
to all the tech-bro thrones
and golden prizes
reluctantly offered
by the big
daddy gods
of airy Olympus

October Evening

Drafted sometime October 2024, posted February 3, 2025

in evening the houses gather
like a flock of books with gilded pages
overturned to mark their places
and hold their secrets closer to the earth

One Foot on Sea and One on Shore

Drafted sometime October 2024, posted February 3, 2025
For S.

as I also flow
in the direction
of whatever after is
I search as I go
through blank waves
silver Irish waves where
your mother says
beneath the hills
they gave half of you to sea
the other half to a lake
you visited each summer
near a house in the woods made
of paths I could picture
when you told me
about bike riding late
at night with your friends
to the private island
all the wealthy people’s houses
staring like abandoned graves
as you laughed
at the big moon
and rode too fast hands
triumphantly lifted
flapping and cawing
always toward water

Grief: Definitions

February 3, 2025

is life a hallway a passage a womb
made of losing? Earnest I wonder the birth canal of the new
grief the rippling contraction at once indicator of orgasm
and the pain of all parting

If We Know We Do Not Know

February 3, 2025

even if we hold our own unknowledge
sacred as a directioned star it is always possible
to choose a greater respect for pains before invisible
I will not say to do this unfolds the world
but that the door of my office has often been opened
to find the hallway become an alcove for whatever winged
uncertain thing has lost its way like me
come to rest a while among the books
in the courtyard of shadowed virtues
looking for answers or fallen asleep
on the slatted bench beneath
the old oak tree arms furred with ferns
hunched and patient as an ancient philosopher
where between earth and heaven he crouches
to consider all our names for shelter
and how we might turn ourselves more simple
in our search for a cup to heal the wound
that would teach us eventually over many
many years to define our terms
and better ask our questions

Sermon of the Birds

initially drafted 2/22/2022, posted 2/1/2025

when I watch birds
I imagine I remember
how to barrel roll
through air
like this raven
amusing himself
with his own
cawing acrobatics
or recall how
to glide
on an updraft
wings spread wide
lazy as one of the wise
old buzzards
or one of their companion
caracaras
or think I sense like an echo
how to strike swiftly
and silently
as my local falcon
announced only
by the flicker
of her shadow
you also remind me
when we kiss
that even bones
can become light
enough to lift
themselves toward
that not merely
metaphorical blazing
center by turns
sun and matter
even Plato allowed
for the prickle-sweat
of pinions
acknowledged
this carnal cave
is haunted
by what together
we rise for
equally animal
and angel

A new mown field bares itself to the sky

11/16/2024 drafted, posted January 26, 2025

this is how green
goes back into earth
we need time
in order
to lose ourselves
in the ground

when I return
I hope I may feed you
freely as spring
winter is the condition

of every warm egg
tucked into the nest
of its own longing
birds are not
worried about tomorrow
the Bible says

dawn has gathered
food for me and kisses
me mouth to mouth
I am your fledgling

light catches everywhere
waiting to sing
we take turns
you and I
being the sheltering
wings of the most high

I have no psalms to offer you

12/17/2021 drafted, posted January 26, 2025

only once, the ancient stretch of the Aegean
where we kissed against the shady grapevine
our bellies full of thought and wine

we touched each other’s every atom
with sunbrown fingers and tumbled
our waves across the grass

in the ocean’s vast and shining shadow
we listened to the music of the pillars
it was then I heard the wind speak

of an ascent by means of feathers
but it was your name that caught my tongue
and taught me no guarantee of tomorrow

Pool of Bethesda

12/17/2021 drafted, posted January 26, 2025

Because I have been
a desert-dweller
I recognize the power
of your radiant oasis
green the sacred color
where I come
to lick my wounds
and fill my vessels
quietly with sky
to rest in wiry shadows
against the thigh
of all that is dry
and soft a temple
of the moon’s heart
inked red by incarnation
washed in the clarity
of wisdom like water
Get up and walk
you say—I walk

Circumference

12/17/2021 drafted, posted January 26, 2025

How large I thought myself
when I spoke to you as if
for the first time arms wide
enough to cause the earth
to still as it wandered
beyond the edge of maps
but I found no monsters there
only you frightening only
in your equivalent magnitudes

Owl Says

2/9/2022 drafted, posted January 26, 2025

I flew with the shining ones
before humans named the gods
I am old as hunting and waiting
when I take flight the air does not fail
to carry me nor does the earth
ever cease to rise to meet me
as it did the first time
I hooked myself from a branch
into the wind where the quiet is

Autumn Vigil

posted January 15, 2025

like the end of a taper candle
I hold you in my mouth
they used to measure time
by how long it took to burn
but there is no end of this
necessary for me to anticipate
trust once earned is less
like free fall and more
like flight your iliac crest
the shoulder of a dove wing
what news will you bring me
from land only lately
risen from the flood?
our covenant ark is spacious
and quiet our windows know
as all windows do the shade
of heaven two each according
to our kind we wake we sleep
in this our teak wood boat
the sea everywhere is buoyant
this is what it means both
to be weightless and to ache
to be at once in a chapel made
of countless tropical flowers
and on my knees on rough carpet
in the middle of fields full
of too many sheep turning
green hills to desert

Tree of Life

posted January 15, 2025

how may I relax myself
around this
your presence
within me?
held in the wideness
of your attention
I witness
and unwitness myself

prayers are difficult
to understand
until you remember
we all start as a cry
hidden between lips
the words
follow after

Fragment

2/11/2024 composed, posted January 14, 2025

with my teeth
I touch the meat of your body
I seek to bruise it
with whatever a rock tells
the earth it comes from

Oak Tree

2/16/2024 draft, posted January 14, 2025

branches a river
for making
light physical
your flesh
is the sky
your muscles
the wind
your heart invisible
in the shade
of all forms
your voice dapples
every leaf
the creak of your lean
your limbs sing
the slow mutter
of growing
I myself
must slow
must slow
in order
to perceive

Observation

2/11/2022 draft, pub January 13, 2025

if when we close the door we think
there are no witnesses we deceive ourselves
there are always angels watching
eyes like furls of bright leaves

they do not mind that we are animal
whatever we think that means

Summer Stone Fruit

2/11/2022 draft, published January 13, 2025

so often
we speak as if
this is a weapon
but for now
in my hand
you are soft
and pliant wet
as a bit peach
is wet
I suppose
you could pierce me
with it
or I could
devour you
with lips
to veil my teeth
but instead you
neither reverent
nor entirely
patient
you firmly you I
hold this vital
you my yes
now glass-stunned
sparrow my own
red hibiscus
blossom
glazed with water