We founder in deceit,
we curse our hands and feet,
and sink beneath the swell of Adam’s pride.

ripples and shivers while embers,
buried by night, are stoked and blown. 

    From ash a yellow lobe rises
    to pose in her broad reflection.
 
She joins leaf and limb, heralds
again daylight and birdsong,

flaunts her glints and ruffles,
gives the wind a reason to begin.

By an ogre of an oak a truck backs and stops—
a red dust flag unfurls over a mountain of tires.

A trailer…kudzu…ash on a cigar…lots of fenders,
hoods and bumpers that go nowhere. 

Nose down in her bowl, the boulder chomps.

     But we reside in holes and haunts
     And crumble ‘neath desire’s taunts. 
     Offered playground swings on chains,
     We close the sash and wait for rain.

Hope, a hungry fire starts.
Sparks fly to light our hearts. 
We long for heritage and glory,
To be the hero of our story.

     But pallid lips quaff bitter brews;
     We search the dregs for any clues. 
     The vestige of our stumbled path
     Winds through weeds and down to wrath.

Wearing bold and vital colors,
Setting blazing wild fires,
Love, though we may never say it,
Bests our fine and whited harlot.

     Yet we, our remedy, resist;
     We wipe away our Lover’s kiss. 
     We hesitate before the altar
     Scorning freedom’s final offer.

By calculator I attempt to interpret the scrawl, to pierce
the marrow of figures, but previous and present balances
are stark like Picasso’s later work.  Don Quixote
on a scribble horse is a depiction more likely to be parsed.   

His expression says, I never asked for this
as if he knew fate would glaze him.
I make another cut: yellow dust flies and settles

on the last of the cold black in my mug.  I pause,
held by his steady gaze…then check my mark
and press the saw through wood again.

for the parting kiss.  I bend lips
to her hair and whisper, I love you,

bye bye.  I believe she sends me
to gather fresh air, to harvest blue sky. 

From down there I reign in her like a king;
I turn in her like a door on its hinge. 

I depart, and she rises to remember:
a tower that bowed, breath, and prickly beard.

In the closet,
a heap of shirts, shorts
and expectance

Blind count
Gritty fingers depress
The sneaky peeks

Fireflies
See you face down
In the periwinkle

I am bouncing.
Me and my brother,
we are bouncing
high into the air.
Astronauts in space
zooming past bright green trees,
suspended high above the ground.
Then we plummet to earth
like rocks dropped off a bridge.

I am bouncing.
Me and my brother
we are bouncing
rubber balls
on a sidewalk.
Down we go—
we hit the pavement
without a sound,
like feet on the trampoline.

In Thy dear cross a grace is found,
It flows from every streaming wound,
Whose power our inbred sin controls,
Breaks the firm bond, and frees our souls.

Thou didst create the stars of night,
Yet Thou hast veiled in flesh Thy light,
Hast deigned a mortal form to wear,
A mortal’s painful lot to bear.

When Thou didst hang upon the tree,
The quaking earth acknowledged Thee,
When Thou didst there yield up Thy breath
The world grew dark as shades of death.

Now in the Father’s glory high
Great Conqueror, never more to die,
Us by Thy mighty power defend,
And reign through ages without end.

Gregory The Great, d. 604