are you awake?

- I’m sleeping, sleeping,
always asleep and dreaming,
rocked in the heart of the world,
the root of the tree, the
shell, the foam, the beach,
and the spear in the sand.

wake, wake,
come after me, greet
the opening of the hillside,
every blade of grass, a lightning-struck oak,
the footprint in the mud and the opening eye.

- dreaming of the nut in the ground,
to tree, to rot,
to rot and fall,
from fall onwards, fire
buried deep in the heart of the world
sleeping, dreaming.

shake off the image of the fire
and become a spark in the tinder,
kindling in the warming of the world.

- I’ll wake, I’ll wake, I’ll
return- I’ll bring back to the world
a seed, a bud, and a stone,
I’ll bring a stem, a leaf, and an island.
On the shores of each one, I’ll
cast my spear to the ground,
I’ll come dreaming again.

not after death, but
before, we may move,
dance, sing,

like a herd of blind horses
roped together, we stumble
all over the partner!

loose the rope on the foot,
the bound hands.

revel in the path
even as it pushes you off the perch,
over the edge of the cliff;
the people standing still
will never see the further horizon.

yet,
with a secret buried
off come the stones
the dreary wearing
of a heavy, ill-kept robe.

like smoke flaring
after a struck match-

while the soul passes by,
we breathe the air

and, with a rare taste on the tongue
go out in mourning after.

one hand upraised-

parting from sense and sound
the limb stands black against the curtain
where some small tossing of the wind
heralds the end of this moment
and the broken-edged beginning
of all the rest. wet as stones
knocked of all roughness by the wave:

rest, for
the heart-ticking has gone on.

I reached out with one hand
at dusk, and met a friend-
some while we walked,
one road was two
and thus:
I was alone to meet day…

at midnight,
I grasped the soul with both hands
and found it unshaken with me
when morning came.

no questions asked; there are none to ask,
the world presses answer after answer into our hands,
- the soul, at the beginning of living,
was a query into the world.

scatter then the beads into the dust,
let the answer return to the ground
mixed with ashes
and the footprints of birds.

the original wonder
is asked as your days go-
at the end, some answer,
too final.

therefore:

ask and ask and ask,
while breath allows
for some change in the clause.

I give you:

a bundle of diamonds at the window, a
chain of stars linked, a veil of breath,
a fire burning miles away,
six footfalls etched in sharp relief.

the hearth is warm. the house is breathing,
drowsing, sleeping, sinking silence,
murmuring quiet, dreaming, sleeping-soundly-

stirring once, at the bright line of dawn,
to close tighter the curtains, until spring.

except as they allow,
things have no meaning.

why have wings without a bird?

the heart leaps forward on the soul
running away to let itself return.

ah, the glance of the door
has some room’s promise-

when we go inside, it’s much smaller
and the chairs are broken,
and the table tilts off all the drinks.

if you want to know the room,
don’t look at the door,
put your hand on each wall,
ask for a story.