Sunday, April 20, 2014

Jason Weiss




the beads
mindful draw a circle

                                                                          in the stock of

the blood booms
from the floor of the eye
the well of the voice
the sounding skins

you were never so lovely as the day you played the cello

the water of
a shadowed sleep
light keeping you

                                                                       reach of the numbers
                                                                       transparency of stars

hawk watching above




blazing forsythia
spring the young deer bounding

edge of field and woods
                        corner window
flicker of rain birds

heart from broken ground
                          you turn round a clock-
                                   face lovely as
                              a woman you knew
bridges at the song of passing

we are standing with our hands open
shaking our open hands
woods reach all along the field that is not empty

sky cluttered with obstinate yearning
but the grasp lets slip the line

that is what the knot was for
not to remember but to catch
you before you go


the wonder tree
hands like flames rising
smoke print on the eye
clouds burning islands

we touched down but the ground
kept receding, sea of severed feet

path of unintentional discoveries
gutted desire, the candle
house mirage         a leaving

                           no wrappings
gift of furies, the crude
earthbound engineers
of sacrifice



lines rendered invisible, night
nestles the small lamplight
screen of light against the beating wings

lost like a dream
image spun from the body
the tongue flapping and
music ran through the house

red trace in a corner of the city
to inscribe a name
over the slate fragments
river of names

dust may sing still
in the visitor's path
                                          oh that wonderful
edge of the dream
when you are falling back into dreaming

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