It is a loose sleeve whose hair wraps the
Bedouin on his pony and then slings him
Into the wind, always to be a monad

The rat who came last night scratching
By the door—did you appreciate
He might be wanting to converse?

You approach me carrying a book
The instructions you read carry me back beyond birth
To childhood and a courtyard bouncing a ball

Eric Dolphy can’t wake up:
the green light’s still burning
by the gate. Pine cones

The margin of mountain grass moved from our feet
down
       the apron of

I write this for your eyes and ears and heart

If it makes your eyes sore

                                 ears weary

The fog comes in, flatter
than ever. The air, apparently

is blue somewhere, not here.

The stars flow beneath the water
The clouds freeze or collapse
In laughter, lure like a pledge

The door behind me was you 
and the radiance, there like 
an electric train wreck in your eye 

I am very lucky but that’s not life.