On the land.

Love is earthly and fast,

And it breaks each morning.

Look first to the traffic beyond the field.

How many stars must have gone dim

Waiting the last

Scant hours for the custodianship

of Light's harp?

And how much of its unseen collision--

Its dust,

Has seeded the field.

The courtship of good words.

Bold classmen's tempests who have collapsed in

White grief on the ocean

And the staring distance that so like a dog

Eats without content or pause,

All things have your hungers known,

Never passing one another,

Yet the growling in their imperiled senses

Gathers you all dearly, with not if,

But just how, down, do we go now.

Bad dream.

An assiduous storm comes on,

In hissing bequeathes its dawn.

The wolf wind of its hymn,

Now dim, begins.

In the furze of its earliest

Disturbance

Goes a black bullwhip

Of its whispering grin.

Baking bread.

Rote hands grow sore from turning the dough,

The wind has fallen off.

Here and there the expectation of broken bread

Returns.

The restoration of air is a humble enterprise--

It begins with nothing.

Plymouth.

When the girl in the shell said, Decent

She didn't err and say Decency,

See,

There's light upon the ribbon

That caters to the box.

See, Sprung very early free:

Pink and innocent-reminding and useless

As a stick of gum packed with baseball cards:

Discover outwardly.

Pink.

Disquietude--

You can hate the dirty grass,

And no one would reproach you.

But boast and this congress will make the bitterest most of it.

Kiss less of its green, Injure your knees less.

Draw romantic bees less,

Get honey, honey, honey less.

Test humblest carnation distress...

Less.

The chop of nature will cleave your ash-colored skull--A lawn stain,

Pink with memory.

Insomnia.

Erring complicates the way on the road

But none of the beams of light.

Miraculously, a custodial trench of grass will stand at attention

In what was once considered

The dark minutes.

Of panic.

The rest of these tears were lost before they were mine.

Darkness preferred the land and left us

To the lonesome of the sky and no good path.

The wall born of earth and the star lit about

Have collaborated on a dim corridor.

Here sailed the ambitions of other travelers;

Here the course of birds

Unchallenged in their buoyant way.

The narrow.

Isn't the gorge in autumn deeper than ever?

See the bloated whalish shadows passing by.

Is that the bull bow of a ghost there,

With the stricture of the dead's

Symphony?

The shadow of a bird rarely depicted in flight.

The raw gut of the crane seldom seen

Bears wind from the wing

And the thunder of emptiness.

Photographed standing

Its still eye holds an amusing crystal

Of the sterile heavens.