Chapter XIX.III Wrapped Shrouds

I

Bees and new flies cloud the holly
despite roadwork, April sun much stronger
that should amaze
but’s not there
you seek an old yew tree present as carshop shadows
Merlin salesman with Hegelian muscles
sky reflected in used black Triomphe
among the many possible rooms you had a ticket for
this one
which you held all the way here
they say you walk off the path among trees
you’ll see two trees like door posts
maybe one growing apart in a “V”
think you step through you cross a threshold
you cross a threshold
that’s prayer you step through
those two tree poems lifted
black stroke calligraphy
on the papery sky
then sometimes tickets and prayers don’t match
urban scape repeats when shuffled by morning
you don’t go through the sliding train windows
but slide too to the usual stop
by St. John the Divine, prayer is just brown bricks and
a less congested, more illustrated sky;
it holds the city apart     like Moses
for a little while
then the ticket-seller’s return
tall masts of apartment buildings on every side
& gulls circle
the present

*****

then the great scaffold crow stoops
the tallest building’s shadow

*****

wind so perfect collaged
there’s no edges
as seamless eye collapses      into display

*****

such confusions are otherwise recognized
as what a room opens under certain passions
so vast a full world assumed
is dreamt      this is the descant
perfect spider web      that hid Muhammad’s cave
kiss of God
and sometimes a girl      with secrets to tell
what passion means against the air
      its full weight
once visited,
changes sky

II

Room,
already my eyes have entered before
the seam of my face becomes
a source of angles
perhaps all scars are springs for
action      long before
the threshold’s crossed
wound-seed
from which possible
doorways open
already my profile
assumes
I can be seen also
into
this long shoreline I have been carving
stele and bluegrass

III

So often there is a threat an unseen
implication      your desire shares in
it was happening again
you were running in a field
out across a field almost      free but
there were riders now
and so you fell       in the tall grass      by a river
there were cottonwoods
it was deep by the river      and you turned
into a bird      and flew up
it was a good plan      ou flew up and the riders
went by underneath
and it was Jesus      in armor and banners
and the horses          went down to the river
but because you were a bird
because transformation follows form      and birds soar  and land
you lit in the grass again      you were naked in the grass
human      boy
and the horses were coming  back up
from the river.

****

she left a letter:
don’t you understand?
each of us kills
to live—
that’s the threshold

****

fall, rise, fall
not waves or the sun
death so final      no metaphor
crosses
but crows gather sigil
we rise to it too      each day
the light in our faces
half sun      but also this bright
endeavor
veils cannot conceal
nor color whisper lullaby to shelter
these long, fixed stares

this life      all my beauty
each testimony I have sworn
each oath of loyal breath
as yours, O Earth
      I also die
despite
      and orphan eyed

Chapter XX Touch My Side

I

A mosaic tile between fingers is not a word
      and yet is known by tracing it
with several touches
      or else is never known        because its not
a word;       even with eyes shut
something is held      between;
in that way      world
      and body      take shape and skin….from a limit
a thousand limits      and apple branches
but the invisible      said spirit asterassonance
      as echo       whose tongue also kisses
presses back      what knowing
into body’s ship?

II

If followed, the planets design      opens new folds
      an eye could trace
into the numberless grass sky
      and even Descartes’ grid makes knotted trails
towards unend      forever vectored axis      in spermy
idyll gyres:
      infinite distance      makes an answer
we travel towards
limit without end
put your hand out
      and become      a further surface touched
body becomes end-
    lessly
in love
      & thought follows sister after.

III

In the open, gravity untangles
its legs
like a colt