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 Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since depart
Marked the mastodon,
The dinosaur, who left dried token
Of their sojourn here

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

The night has been long,
The wound has been deep,
The pit has been dark,
And the walls have been steep.
Under a dead blue sky on a distant

Curtains forcing their will
against the wind,
children sleep,
exchanging dreams with
seraphim. The city

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

He bad
O he bad
He make a honky
poot. Make it honky’s
blue eyes squint

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?

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