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.