11-24-2015

These leagues

Among whom I engine still

Incidental
Fires,

And recall
Aurora
Amidst all things,

Still give
Birch-tops
Whittled thin,

Shavings offered up to the stars,

Paved roads
Paid in debt to unapproved.

They glow,

And this scant light,
Heat,
I pour
Into the house
I find around me.

11-15-2015

I dreamed library windows
Pored over with snows;

Dehydration;

Diplomacy taking the shapes of
Owls;

Tops of
Wooden
Telegraph poles
Alight

With Orion;

Lungs of Queen Anne's War
Beneath a list of knives

Gracious as
Unlit horizon

Unexplored,
Purchased,
Recalling fires
And stacks of wool
And high-carbon steel.

We are
Wrapped in
Things that sound
Like creeks,

And in the one great night,
The dark
About the present house
A tried plain

That remembers feet,

The way north.

11-1-2015

I am still as young as
What I smell in Autumn,

And as old, work-tempered
As sugar maples

Out back;

Limerent
Leaves

Holding and

Sheathing, and

Wandering

In dreams

Streets
That late November
Ladles over the counties.

I've been counting windows
All night.

I've been realizing, knowing
Again, again.

11/13/2014

The better part of so many.

The negative space of bridges.

The sleet-slurried red lights

Lofted over never

Held water.

The unbought house’s

Doorframes

Spilled with unharvested corn.

In the way the Ford’s headlights

Move upon the face of the early dark,

We have been outlived by the age,

And put

Too many ways across and upon.

One last set of embarrassed evenings

Spent upon

The banks I’ve dragged behind me,

And the stars will

Trace sprocket-turns and spirals

On the bedroom walls

Of all these strangers.