Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone

Funky blues
Keen toed shoes
High water pants
Saddy night dance
Red soda water

We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of lonelines
until love leaves its high holy te
and comes into our sight

Give me your hand
Make room for me
to lead and follow
you
beyond this rage of poetry.

A last love,
proper in conclusion,
should snip the wings
forbidding further flight.
But I, now,

Your skin like dawn
Mine like musk
One paints the beginning
of a certain end.
The other, the end of a

A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since depart
Mark the mastodon.
The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
Of their sojourn here

We were entwined in red rings
Of blood and loneliness before
The first snows fell
Before muddy rivers seeded clouds
Above a virgin forest, and

I keep on dying again.
Veins collapse, opening like the
Small fists of sleeping
Children.
Memory of old tombs,

FOR DAVID P—B
The eye follows, the land
Slips upward, creases down, forms
The gentle buttocks of a young
Giant. In the nestle,