sneasel: (Default)
In this world
we walk on the roof of hell,
gazing at flowers.


The world of dew
is the world of dew,
And yet, and yet--



The holes in the wall
play the flute
this autumn evening.



That gorgeous kite
rising
from the beggar's shack.



Even with insects--
some can sing,
some can't.



Crescent moon--
bent to the shape
of the cold.


Children imitating cormorants
are even more wonderful
than cormorants.
sneasel: (Default)
A mermaid found a swimming lad,
Picked him for her own,
Pressed her body to his body,
Laughed; and plunging down
Forgot in cruel happiness
That even lovers drown.
sneasel: (Default)
things that fall

petals
teardrops
snowflakes
rain
stars
tides
eyelids
time
shadows
leaves
the sun
and I,
for you
sneasel: (Default)

the theory that people

are always searching for

their other half is 

              bullshit. 

don’t let anyone, not

even a god, tell you 

you are anything less 

than whole.


sneasel: (whatever lies beyond this morning)
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me, so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
sneasel: (you just jelly of my scarf)
How many rocks would I stack
on my brother’s chest? A rock
for his beauty, a rock for his trust,

and two for lips redder
than a boy’s should be.
Granite for his love

of birds; a chunk of quartz
shot through with pink.
For singing on car trips,

hiding in the dryer, and flouncing
down Oak Street in my mother’s dress:
limestone, shale, sandstone, flint,

limestone, shale, sandstone, flint.
sneasel: (how long?)
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he’s dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
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