water to air

        the word for soul is
      neck  
what we need is no less
what is, is & whether
                    the narrowing passage  
i decide on
active melancholy
                    brainbone to bloodorgan
                    water to air  
but what if you don’t 
believe in 
         you have to touch something   
                   to remove it

     daily & no
                   matter

air in air

fluid breathing thru fluid

promontory gills

guillotines

her airplane holding air

white paper permanence
crush the ninth objection clean
the return, up, of
light, of power

confetti

breath twin will surface
fates assembling spiders

                   orbitual
navigating the head

crosshatching
             of air

grinned full of loose luck
fastens on the tawdry sparrow

phosphorously

you can, while you're sleeping
feel for an extra eyelid, put on
the goggles. it is vestry, that is
vestigial, the need to see
in water, in air, @
night all is green &
groaning with light
quiet bombs. the whistling
of far away, the
whistling for your dog
twitching in his dream.

for this have some inclination

sparrow or crow swerves over-
symbolically. a schizophrenic
interpreter to part the swell
of wing. short carpet-haired
dogs serve. the background
window pans half-silvered
across unformed stories. the oil
bird is two swoops, goto one,
lean crook of pallette thumb,
carpal hollow clambering up
air abreast of retrograde
rung

nostalgia

high stretched 
starward hands 

this air feted
so i, await

ing space, 
vast stars             i will 

come sleep
at years 

to constellations 
one star to 

with turn-
ed kid-time

coats 
let each
 
ring                   be 
the awakened

Luck is deaf in the prayed-to ear

holy o lay the darkened
day pray ride with me o
stay inside despair of
cloud of thickened air
belay o dream o sick
redeem

first usage

margin crescent
thickness in
air sucks
mutual tubulature
our green circle against
spectral boundary
divine it

afterlife

trickle of black
                dried
  movement of the tree-man
       the jay distr      acted

       air closes in

         tried, try
         treble, tremble

       icicle

air line

silver speck tip, the constant

shroud pulled across the face

look down on the topological clouds

the flange tightens, we turn

get threaded in the blue

blued air

corn crept in the corners of the
cracked adobe walls. i put my
heart in a jar & prepared
for winter. the broom determined
the paper to keep the last
mouse warm.

powerpoles

at one we saw the sun go icy and hot air gel
at six and a sec or two the sky ran wan in awe
of god the arm of eve lop rib nib to nub the
way our lot lay brr low til ten of eon age

tryst

i went up
a fall. you were there. the sun
rose. hand met. air lay sweet.
son called up. we went at once.

altaer

his succession of afters
then life, then thought, then
after the wax, the bronze
age, the animals in the
archives salvationary & quick
to reduce the work of the
hands. rely more on air.

high sea tremolo

sketched up by
starward strokes all
hands on tarry board along
this thin lair of denser
air are sound fetched
feted transmitted

aye eye i I

in the
beginning well
i was

a word
under sea
level. syllabic
pressures mounted.

these descenders
turned out

as good
for flesh
as water.

I emerged
in a

mouth full
of air.

no idea

a beveled gap
f silence sits
n the air ab
the cutting room
threshold. t
the level f
a chair rail,

wr there

chairs

hd they

not cut wailing
fr thickets

wr truly

recapitulation

still not

the first air was an apology. pastureland and gray. this water kept from water. the insertion of the lungs in the same soil where the neighbors are a gave and the have. i am increasingly changing my mind as long as there is water and longing as long as we can swim? to field and close every every every graveyard is a church, our kitchen, our refrain. then birds and minerals remain with names as pairs. the same and more often. the third came as err.

duration

it is the week the hyacinths first purple. low walls of stone still cut sloppy fields, and an old cat strolls them again. they are gone now those who dreamed of sleeping at the tops of mountains and brinks of cliffs. void of people the earth slows imperceptibly, now three minutes from horizon to set instead of two. in dim air the cat falls. the cat too dreamt. of a blur, of flitting brown fur with vanishingly slender means of escape, and its own dreams, of inevitable missteps, of beginning being eaten.