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Spirits of the Wind
Black yarn of sky Closes in on the horizon's rim, A single line of thread Strung out by God's hand Above which a cluster of white birds Hover in curiosity. Two cloud vessels crash, one black, The other white, scatter The snow flecked birds into oblivion And rain will melt the cities. It will be heaven and hell merging Under my counsel. I place old men Into cane chairs At the edges of islands. Their shoulders sway To the rhythm of the hypnotic palms Waiting for the water To lap their feet And for sleep to tassel their eyes. When their bodies Become a burden to the sea I take them inside me, I lift them Through a vortex of ether and stars, Fill in the gaps Of their long lost speech. Sleep is a blue hydrangea Bending its head Against my will. A sailor got drunk and lost his boots, Fell asleep in the park With a triangle of moonlight Patterned on his face. Brooding angel, left hand of my senses, Entered as a breeze through the glade, Rearranged the rooms Built inside the eyes of the sleeper Then took off in a wisp By the path of the bronze-berried bushes. I praised the night sky by myself And the labor of angels, Holding my hard eye on the dreamers. It is one thing to love a fugitive, To waltz nude on the porch When the moon is going down, To regard me and the owl as the same And to consider the rectangle of stars Reflected on the kitchen floor As a place no one had ever stepped before. It is another thing To walk through an empty room As if walking into your heart, Picking up the broken glass And getting used to the bourbon wearing off. And when the sirens Have faded away into the distance And the ambulance attendants Play cards under the flourescent light, And whether you're drunk or not I'll be across the street in the dark Inside the sycamore, watching you- Invisible to all that may desire me, Transient, and very cold. I speak through the hull of clouds through the match that won't stay lit Pll circle you like death like mange spreading up the back of your dog I'll set your eyes on fire and fan the flames and for awhile my breath will be your breath enough to make you lightheaded and think you'll never die Il keep your wife up all night weeping in the hallway and telegraph bad dreams to your sad children Pll never stop the dust from swirling in your attic and I'll give you hope that whatever it was you loved will in the end kill you