Nite rote

The sound of the ocean is relentless, this is the nite rote

I am as roots

the rain whispers about birds

birds yell about wings



the eyes of moss

mistake a stack of rocks for a person

in new moon’s light



how many mermaids

take me across the river

all the facets of Terpsichore

clouds weight the sky

not some Cassandra syndrome

it already rains



in seven new moons

so many berries eaten

I can taste the moon

soft she bruises

under the thunder moon

of the hard lightning



as islands appear

I hold the pure color

of the pacific ocean

by twenty forty eight

the caregivers of war

will be Arab

I imagine your imagination is rapid

can I give you this bite of love

before you turn into a bird?

consider the unconsidered

those that have not yet disintegrated

friends inside the chrysalis:

  the alpine butterflys

  the hunched

  the inverted

  the irrevocables

  the storied

  the olds

  the battled

  the catholiced

  the taught

  the caffeinated

  the illuminated

  the obscured

  the satiated

  the insufferables

  the weighted

  the removed

if love in not the only answer

it is probably also disintegration

the magpie’s urges

to tie string on the wind

or bundle the waves

dive into the full moon

resurface on a calm lake

to catch a body



pure stars fall

thunder moon casts the sun at the earth

in honor of souls

her lips conjure blue

from the sky, red from the earth

and me from the horizon



in longing for heat

I want to pick her bones

my heart’s artifact

a thin gypsy’s dreams

train to be enigmatic

fight the Minotaur



by tiny gears inside

any meaning means something

when you crack the sky

in their hollow bones

ravens carry a longing

to be heavier



a crow flies over

a labyrinth or a desert

always turning left

a brief shadow

the largest raven on the island

is watching us



between scattered islands

the time pushes the currents

the tides pull the time

she wears summer well

though it wears her much better

so hot and so bare

his wild endeavor

to hold the whole sky

is put away in sunlight

the appulse

when Jupiter met Saturn

was a symphony



when the world was flat

the horizon was the body’s contours

the past was a foreign country