February Suite

I.

There in the earthrain,

there with wet ashes,

where did her soul go ?

II.

The mistake he made

is he thought they had time,

stabbed by the sudden thought of her.

III.

After he splits his firewood and wheels it

to the old house, he likes to sit on the porch

and listen to his blood roar.

IV.

In an empty farmhouse on winter fields

where echoes were the only kindred voices,

the blue-veined hand wrote self, self, self.

V.

Goodbye poets, goodbye painters,

the world once made more sense,

and I loved you.

VI.

Hoarfrost feathered daybreak—

the flight of a crow, the rustle of an oak leaf—

how strange to be alive on the earth.

VII.

Snowbirds pecked in the flattened grass,

solitary he spread his arms and held everything

that was slipping away together.

—with  lines by Michael Ondaatje

Notes from a Run at Dusk While Fasting Near the End of My 75th Year

How strange

to be alive on the earth

thinking in English

having not spoken all day

one spin in space

awed by small things

the rustle of an oak leaf

the flight of a crow

the wind on the hill

knowing what's coming.

End Rime

    

Feathers of frost in the swale at daybreak

and unease among the people

rising from nightmares

at the end of an era.


Goodbye poets, goodbye painters,

the world once made more sense,

the people thought well of each other,

and I loved you.


We spread a blanket in the field

to watch the cross-hatched sky,

bees chanted in the goldenrod above us,

goodbye music makers.


Eras end, eros flows,

I have your breathing close and easy

in the days before panic.

Icewings to smoke at the touch of the sun.

The Next Thing

Dear company too rare drives off

and leaves me waiting

for the next thing

knowing all at once

the next thing will be me


An empty house on winter fields

where echoes are the only

kindred voices that I hear

the blue-veined hand

writes self self self


To be complicit with the wind

with snows among bare trees

in a border kingdom of the mind

buoyed on the hush between lines

sometimes is enough.

Daughter Below Language

accidental self portrait

She lay below language

in the heart of an immense city

but with the hand that moved

could press my own

and look me in the eye

and smile.


"She doesn't know you,"

the doctors said,

"Anything is possible,"

the nurses said,

"Don't listen to the nurses,"

the doctors said.


Just her and I

for her last sigh


I kissed her as she cooled

Firewood

After he split his firewood

and wheeled it through the snow

to the old house leaking heat

he liked to sit in the porch rocker

and listen to his blood roar

                    living an inner life

                    a valley of echos

Valentine

   

I would wait

and let the leaves

come to the branch


But the mistake we make

the Dalai Lama said

is we think we have time


Stabbed by the sudden thought of you

— with a line by C. D. Wright

Dirge: Lyrics for Viola

Album cover for The Road, Original Film Score by Nick Cave & Warren Ellis

(Intended to be read with music. Begin when the viola comes in.)



Slow

until the rain came

rain on the river

cold and slow


Pain

pain when you left me here

after you left me

slow rain upon me

cold and slow


Here

here with wet ashes oh

here in the earthrain oh

slow on wet hills


Where

oh river oh hills

where did your soul go

it wells up inside me oh

cold and slow