Departures

The sumac is a tinderbox; the hills
Chain smoke. Woods, bare as cloves, draw down
A tattered rigging as the light see-saws
Refusing boundaries. Skies shiver, drown
In deer-slots degged with rain. The shortened days
Are needle-eyes, and dark and winds can drive
From nowhere, raising ghosts in kindly rooms.
Cold storage. A dead language come alive.

I choose to be wordless. My dumb breath describes
Dissolving serifs on the moving air,
Ephemeral descants - gone, obeying laws
That mind and memory refuse to bear
The weight of. Shut the window. Start the car.
Cover the distance. Nothing is to spare.


Following Darkness
...