To wit: We rise like leaves; we fall like leaves
The awful force of spring does not retreat
Despite our best efforts to split the season.
Run, two, three, pity us not.
We only sing in church. We sing our love
In order to make it vanish directly
Red to Red. The ends carry back the green.
Until – until the hardened summer leaves
release themselves to the pleasure of failing.
The Autobiography of a Squid Named William
I have heard
the low sweet lament of the krill
mothers to us all
I have seen
the men who whispered violets
standing on sea walls
their eyes as they see that final shade of blue
I have delighted
in the perfume of onions
fried on a distant beach promenade
I know that
men are the fighting cocks of God
razors sewn to inadequate legs
under my burden
(purple, sunburst yellow, ochre)