here is a field

after H.D.

here is a field
and here there were people
which means charged space
in a void,
which means charged space
and steeplejacking
of some sort

here is a field
and here there was a field
which means echo sound
of echo feeling
and steeplejacking
of a natural sort

here is a field
and a glass of water
frozen on a stump
somewhere in that field
as a demonstration of method,
of indistinguishable mind,
and the glass waits
only to freeze to the stump,
to give the universe punctuation,
not a bad thing

lastly, here is a field
of vampires, of feeling
frozen on a stump
somewhere in that field
as a demonstration of passion,
a sort of Ark with funny animals
that even children somehow know,
troublesome animals
in the sense they must be loved
or at least amuleted

and that is the beginning of justice.

The Sun Says

The sun says
I get high
and suddenly I am a poet.
There is thinking.
There is the algal mind
of Monet’s paintings.
The moon says
I get high
as an avocation
and can stop
anytime I want. Its nose
grows long as its centuries.

Pierre

From out this window
I watch a wire
in the snow
The purity of its intent
To exist
It is nothing like the wings
That also shadow this glass
It is the thing
Of which hours are made
A piece of string
You believe in it one day
The way it crosses the landscape
Something holds it at either end
But these anchors
Are mercifully out of our view

Brancusi

An oval in moonlight
sought out by a flashlight
but a flicker of the instant
mind like ethereal coffee
made from crystals
stirred in a cup

A woman’s bladed question
on the granite table
next to a marble face
oval of the pale head
It is an afterlife of the mind
a gift of ourselves given everywhere,
a flash of ourselves in stone

Smooth that it have an animal smoothness to the mind