Notes On Migration
Birds in a hat
in a fist what was that
it’s a push a stasis a stain
a boat crimped in the sky
an inconvenient conversation
with that
a wire above the garbage outside
dangling no current
but dark and curling
you’ve been a long circling
a cat on the log sleep (clawing)
a wag lifting
where are the questions
asking themselves silly
and dark and unrelenting ?
you are a brick
in the forest
contained
growing in
more rooted
wet and dry
baking
nightfall east of you
or something like that
hard to tell anyone
talking on the roof
years ago skin sutras
drugged
imbalance
in love with traces
slicing you
opening
toward the sunset
are stoves of ashes
storms in opposite
directions
“a perfect place
for country folk”
an argument
you think the only
thing that makes sense
in the dog wood
and red brick
her mouth
against my chest
well come the
iron flutter
of old mouths
well come
the city
the loosen
lit things
that arc and hunger
over fortune
but are almost
too thin
to happen
the crawlers
walkers
and flyers
seek security
well come me stone fish
of the
eastern bridge
I am going into my cradle now
for my weapons
“the whole empire
is not big enough”
Who will know peace?
What is the definition again?
What length or times
or place describe the difficulty?
Wine clouds of the riders? The rich?
Friends of the recruits? & three
different
endings?
Waving good-bye
to the deep mountains
where we have made
our home
They say we have come a long way
to say nothing in particular
You left
in a hurry happy
while you could
while the river
was cold and empty.
poetry