the occasion of the swarovski pen

try not to make

a poem about a pen found

filled with cylinder of fake

diamonds.

it begins.

descant epic decameter.

intone heroic iamb.

the finding of one's idle self

in cushion cuts of medias res

descant

before lips settle into face

that settles into everyday

the gods in mist move

and the galloping of their dactyls

(riding upon the first faint rays of sunset) is

awesome to behold

in sufficient numbers

old sculptures bleed their copper spangles

in divinest green, divinest

coronet down the lower lid of eye runs

ah hello and hither she

needless lovely world

needless to forevers iced with star bling

infinitely bare of other light

but you

lovely world in your startling beauty

all, all, and all, your chinking glit

full spectrum of my trinket sight lit.

sahara el beyda

Poem for those with weary voice.

1.

it is the last of a

rolling grassland

it is the blowing of these hard

and petty ceaseless sands

it is the lash of them

hard rock of a man balanced

on thinning stem of hope

it is the weariness

of his eyes

it is how all things have gone

to dogs

it is how the memory

fails

it is the wind unresting

it is the final silent bow

unmarked

all the stores of your wisdom

swept in futile necessity down

upon the flats of pettiness

and covered

2.

fall in love again

with rain

plant and

believe

the earth does

her own struggle

to raise each blade.

Chinook wind

i

hold holy to this dirty world

say confession to the Chinook wind

let the words blow free as cold crust of white

pried back by sun and sky and light

what is a changing

if not its own peculiar miracle?

ii

hold holy to handrails

despair licks up from under bridges

where it hangs

slicks over sides when you look down

empty air calls your fragile body

to the heaviness

of now and now

and now

iii

but hold

grace in you

the fluttering of warm in air

sudden silence of gone snow

grace is a peculiar beauty

as beauty is

laced

with how each thing will end

with how renewing will begin.

Jackpine

Jackpine. Sylvie backing on dog collar.

coming of age

when

end of become

comes into view

become comes just to

be

it slows us

back-pedaling

chain slackening

time has a soft peddling

way, the slip of day to day

the chink chink

chink

but you start to think

of what you've got

for what you pay

There was evening and there was morning.

there is new

like dew of unseen

sun dripped clean

on lower rim

of ancient moon

empty thingless moon

faint ring of black

against black sky

and there is a last

newness of morning,

the softness of pink shade only

these ice-shaved winter clouds

can blush

i know as i leave

soon you will be moving

about this empty kitchen

can guess where your hands will touch

love takes such a simple way

a light to rule the night

a light to rule the day.