page 133

one movement is no more fatal
than its countermovement;

risk is never within the margins
of my wooden back-and-forth.

pleasure is the distance
of my travels,

and life is the complacency
of my stillness.

        in the heart of the adult
        there is a rocking horse.

        can i find a fortunate soul
        whose horse gallops free
        
        from its rockers?


:::


how do you do it?

light a candle
on the plains of a tundra?

from what source
do you draw heat?

the imagination of heat.


:::


words written from the eyes.
chapters written from a look.
suspense written from a glance.
love written from a gaze.
endings written from no look at all.

continue talking.
i will continue reading.


:::


you gave me a daffodil

painted, laced, and tainted
with rocket fuel.

that daffodil rides
the furls of Neptune's winds now...
but not i.

for i learned the language of flowers
before i could smell the folly of fuel.


:::


"Sir, we were told
you suffer from melancholia.
Is that true?"

It very much is true.

"Our colleague also told us
you are one of the most joyful men
on the grounds.
How is that so if you suffer
from this grave condition?"

It is quite simple really.
Simple in principle, difficult in practice,
but rewarding nonetheless.

"Do tell us."

Rather than stand by waiting
for life to create my joys...
of which I cannot seem to feel...

I go out and create joys from my life.


:::


never was i more unaware
of my jagged, glassy ignorance
until you came along;

i have been carved,
withered,
weathered,,
tarnished,
ground, and ground, and ground

into a humble, modest
pebble.

if i am so lucky,
the very fabric of me
will erode and be carried
by your love-stream.


:::


find the one
who turns the empty clay pot
of your soul

into a bushel of red Camellias.


:::


i lie on a bed of Daylilies
with the crooked neck
of a Crimson Rose.


:::


Larkspur,
do visit this abandoned tavern?

once again?


:::


God lead me
with a hand of calm.

to which a voice said,
Rest among the Lemon Balm.

at day's next morning,
another path appears true.

Follow it dutifully
the novel direction of Yew.

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page 73

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page 69

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