Maya

before theylearned the rule of sound

childrenbelieved the rhythm of mockingbird’s song

traveled along thebark of branch it held

through trunk’score

to roots inearth across a length of forest

to toes tickledby stiff mud

it might havebeen easier that way

to see thematter word was

carried on as itquivered up

to you without aname

Discovery

before the bookscan burn the flames lick back into their depraved mouths

in reverse theprint press comes before fire

letters peelthemselves from pages roll back through the machines to that

            untouchedpool of ink

gathering alongthe ridges of engraved teeth

coming to ascreeching halt the wheel is discovered all over again

when it’s putback on its axle

set to motion abeginning ends

watch as thedead undo what has led to life in the first place

we learn to killonly after we have spoken—committed our words to history

we carry water beforewe begin to grow

Possession

the spider tapsgently before it makes its entrance through

a break in thedrawn curtains—imagine the fright

it causes—thestir of the gesture

as it ripplesacross an audience of moths

to grow in awider swath—the dandelion—obliterated by light

springs into thewind without a mind to guide it to the other country 

withoutcertainty we too tested the air—flaunting

our awkward andbrittle wings

who says thepersistence of the self can be quantified

in everymolecule of atmosphere?—there is only so much

harm we can doas we wait for the next corn harvest

that final bowof October’s moon

after years wecome to realize

that our bodiesare wrapped in the same skin we were at odds with as

children

we dying ingratitude

we dead inmeadows—we have only the things we have made

the songs wemuttered to the dirt—in the other country

we are emptyhanded—there is nowhere else to go

If a Tree

without yourears to enjoy it

thetwentieth-century continues to make noise

plunging throughspace—animals scream for their own purpose

cry out in asilly resistance to variation

and so the treefalls and truly it must make a thunderous crash

the rodents andbirds as they are disheveled

by a furious air—adoe trots with her fawns

to the nextmeadow

you are not thereto feel the breaking apart

the splinterwhen it snaps from the grain

theoretically wecan go back in time—if only we could

go fast enough

the moment wewould likely reach is the event horizon

at the center ofAndromeda

the vantagepoint unfortunately matters—without your ears to hear it

the velocity by whichthings are made new clamors

how else wouldthe gopher know the cat approaches downwind?

how else are westartled awake?

Evening Address

hey you—fatair with your mouth hung open

child bawling atthe street corner

you hook-billedthrashers—you weeks waiting for rain

worm moon on thewane

you leafy greens

you shades

o bucket full ofcitrus—you!

pot boiling over

dear one thingafter the other

dear sobriety

to the nextgiving moment—give it to me

one more time