16.

looking up as

swallows cross white

space between four suffering

hemlocks, each bared

blighted to their celadon tops

by snow-like and borne

on feathered breeze a whim

this new disease

the birds (frolic or

perform) diving through

chatter dance divide

dizzy with my head back

weighing envy death

flight, the still years it takes

giants to die so now a

new sky (paper-white and

swollen with grace

) unfolding

15.

shining

her open face

solarized, aglow

tilted at just such an angle

will take you (surprise

and all) away

over palisades, balding

escarpments, cold
stone lines
rising

are we siting stories

the moon is orange

or a new yellow – tell me

the name of the star

to the right of (beneath

or along, un-swayed by

– with) such borrowed

incandescence

or lies, bright enough to cast shadows

her oceans long gone

sorrow and time

her arms

lost

or are we done

with such filters and

worlds are not stars but

stones between

waiting and Venus

is just this
distant

girl

talking?

14.

gray the river and

boys in blue through

swayed reeds, collecting

smooth, soft colors

glass shards polished to

loose perfection

and driftwood echoing

bones 

bricks strewn hither

yon (stamped with letters

faded now gone) meant
to say what?
W A U

we angle under

twin toppled pines

hung over as clay

spilling in slow-motion 

and roots yawning wide

clutch rounded

stones

what we hold now

burnished but

in so many pieces

will weigh us

down

13.

the Kon-Tiki set sail

to tame the south pacific and

we are seated at a table in

a same silence, proving
points about distance and
what floats (your eyes, near yellow 

shining stories) below the waves

mountains rise, great
submerged valleys cradle
beautiful darkness

Thor Heyerdahl, a sextant

hung from his red-brown neck

starts laughing and reminds

us, it’s a conversation

so say something

12.

drunk guy arabesque, whiskey

deep askew – his sidewalk dancing

shadow snow falling and she

walked north up Washington Street

years ago (a backward skating

spiral…) leaving footprints perfectly

improvised music over white

blind and blown through by slicing

wind off black water – found

her waiting under street lamp halos

are for suckers (sing it

now) in the morning, salt-gray

tracing delicate movement

so long, ornate and

wasted