o f

l i g h t

 

one

 

when you reach

beyond our town

the windmill on the old road

 

the windmill stands

on legs as dark stalks

with blades as bright petals

.. a man-made sunflower

revolving on this

the old road

beyond our town ..

it is the limits of what

will be familiar

++++++++++++

two

 

it is setting now

on the finished year

this last new moon

in a cloud of stars

leaving a hole ..

a blued dark halo

in to which a new year

will serenely grow

+++++++++++++++

three

 

that last day the sky leaned

we were separate on the sidewalk –

 

you bathed in a lavish of sun

and i behind the sun

with wings on fire

+++++++++++++++

four

 

certain sheets of light support the fabrics of air

with suspended lucid struts that enfolded our marine planet

 

but behind our cool planet is an other

is a double, that is poised impetuous & close

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

five

 

believe me .. if you drive beyond that sunset

at road’ end, there is a forest full of gusts

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

six

 

they say the gauze

in the sky is smoke

that came from mexico ..

 

and who knew

how far the truth

would be willing

to travel (?)

++++++++++

seven

 

now i have taken the vast roads

in thru the high county

where all here proves celestial ..

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

eight

 

note:

8.52am / 24◦ / monday october / elevation 12095

 

thin light .. colorado independence pass is god’ park

and i am (am i?) upheld in a field vast of suspension

with mount elbert & his brothers & their white stares

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

nine

 

she has been a prisoner

in memory for 5000 days

 

ah, because a jet can fly west

she will escape my mental ethers

 

the touring woman, dimensional,

and too with a flesh & bone child

 

and to think of it, now i am,

one of her sunny destinations

++++++++++++++++++++++++

ten

 

you stumble awake into the blessing of the morning ..

it is no, not gold ginger beige sepia cream khaki

sandalwood bronze taupe, ah buttermilk or scotch,

not tan sandy hazel or chestnut cinnamon orange

but a new color that just you, you have discovered

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

eleven

 

janet, oh let me tell you .. they make rain in seattle

and the sun does never smile there as here – but yet

the air can glisten there not like here & the soil is deep

moist rich for growing .. quite unlike here

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

twelve

 

down thru stairs

of surging pastures

of winter grasses

under a motion

of sky

 

a friend imitates

shifting degrees

of light

++++++

CHECK THIS OUT >>> an audio reading of four poems: