this tree is

a place where hard men shift a boulder to plant a seed

House 

.....Manitoulin Island, Ontario

she was a doorframe
she was the windowpane in his blood

she breathed slowly by the sink
and thought of a tree in bloom
a warmth in her thighs against snowfall
sunlight quavered in a bowl of water

 he held the phrase matrimonial privacy
a mouthful of nails to hammer a stair toward the bedroom

winters later
he curls no larger than a loaf of bread
under strips of wallpaper
mewling for home

holy

thursday afternoon is light and shadow

if there is another world

it is inside this one


look here

rise

it was just then starting to snow outside in the winter sunlight

the first flakes coming erratic and bright from the cloud-swept wilderness of sky

.

morning, snow

.

Wer weiß, ob derselbe Vogel nicht hinklang durch uns gestern, einzeln, im Abend?

Reverie is not a vacuum of the mind. It is, rather, the gift of an hour that knows the plenitude of the soul. 

-- Gaston Bachelard

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