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Five finches arrive in
the end
For their evening baths
and solos
And because above all
their other secrets
They prize their privacy
they wait
Till I go in where I can
watch
Them unobserved but
tonight
They’ve come to sing and
drink
In a new light which of
course
Is fading now but resuming
In the morning according
to
The notes they’ve chosen
Come O come new morning
light
Although our beaks are
frozen tight
I can see the nasty from
here
The hateful doubtful
fearful nasty
From the high cliff of the
year
From which one either
leaps
Or is lifted off by death’s
Delicate snatchings
Like chocolates from a box
In seasonal wrappings
To plunge into
downwardness
And darkness the double’s
Fine tailoring of truth
To take the feathers for
the goose
To place a crown on the
uncouth
And on one’s neck a noose
Is it because I keep
staring
At his courage that statue
Keeps grinning at me
Is it because I can see
The roots of some higher
tree
In the bare branches of
this one
I can feel cloud-like
Is it because death is
Just getting tired of
oneself
That one can foresee
A dramatic departure
All this time to plan
One’s death as if it were
A wedding or a party
What good is freedom
If there’s no freedom
From death what good
Is love if it can’t
Overcome death
For if death could
It would have
Already done it
So somewhere love
Must still exist
Provisionally victorious
Though still married to
death
Living in some cramped
apartment
Dreaming of freedom
But what good is it
When you get old you start
Living into the time
After your death
A part goes on and looks
Back on that reverse
Birthday of the spirit
While still in a body
The body is the one
That takes it in the chin
Only the spirit is free
And claims its freedom
spitefully
Because of the power of
beauty
Which drew you to it
And draws you back to be
I smiled too late
In all the photographs
Lost in the maps
I missed the dates
You were my compass
Sail and keel
But how can a blind
Man go by feel
On the braille of the sea
He trusts his nose’s
Memory to guide his hand
They say I’ve read I
sailed
Myself but never out
Of sight of land
I tried to keep
An overall plan
To my life
Wholly dependent
On the element
Of surprise and
The expectation
Of illumination
At some point
Or else I would go
Skating on thin
Ice fall through
And not be saved
As happens to so many
But it was not to be
So easily arrived at or
So summarily dismissed
My life which went on
Before me and will
Go on long after
In the shrine of my ego
Where my weaknesses
Worship my fears and
My fears strut about
Lording it over my
struggling
Intentions until one clear
Thought heroically appears
Signaling the other fires
Only lacking a spark
After all to take hold
To ignite my timidity
These few dry leaves
Into buds of flame
Because I will it
Because I make it be
On the road to Bethlehem
I lost my way
What is this crazy
Following some light
In the distance
Night after night
As if salvation
Were actually coming
When we’re the ones
Chasing it I could
Almost see from the inn
Through drunken tears
The child was already
Born and fled
Love was not dead
I know the leaves from
this tree each
Year fill three large
plastic bags
I know the raspberries I
grew in 1981
Will never be rivalled in
taste and size
I know why the fear of
damnation
Does not deter some people
Doesn’t even phase them
I know knowledge alone
Will never get us there
I know the distance from
Doing right to doing good
Is like seven continents
away
I know we must lose the
directions
To find out where we’ve been
The stray cat stands
On his hind legs
To reach the rim
Of the birdbath to sip
His thirst away
Even though I fill
A bowl of water
He will only drink
Where the birds
Bathe when he’s
Napping of course
And I’m reading over
Here pretending I
Know nothing of
Their private lives
Pity for the earth
For what brings brown to the leaves
For what brings them to their knees
Weren’t these the first
Real spiritual beings
The warm and cold nights
Which created us
Pity for the earth
That the light
Had to follow
For life to be possible
Even if not quite
Comprehensible
Even if not finally
Sustainable
Love that cannot get
Beyond the body is
Like someone who dies
Young and never gets
To flower or like the five
Finches one Verdin
And one hummingbird
All warming themselves
In the winter sun
Together at the top
Of the orange tree
Which itself looks
Like it’s dying
Leafless and brown
All this meant literally
I take it
The direction of the flow
Of energy from the earth
Spirals lefty-loosey upward
And outward while the direction
Of the flow of energy from the stars
And all the endless cosmos
Spirals righty-tighty downward
Corkscrewing like new tendrils
So the solstice is the meeting
Of these two energies equalized
While everyone holds still for the picture
We say ‘taken’ but from what
Instead of ‘given’ but by whom
To prove we were here still
Hanging between the vertical
And the beam
After the rain
The gutters drip
In quick-time
Clicking away like
The typewriters
In old movies
A rhythm you could
Dance to so old
But still fresh
You can only tap
Your mortal feet
The gods set the beat
They make the body pay
The music never stops
Do you come here often
We got carried away
The world is really
Just loneliness
For the lord of love
Which must in time
Be sated
Even if you have
Already dismantled it
You too will be
Satisfied you too
Will find a way
So kind is he
To have already
Been you once
Enough to be
Created
To have fallen
From 2/3 a god
And 1/3 a man
Or to have risen
From 2/3 an animal
And 1/3 a man
To a wholly human
Condition depends
On your approach
Whether you arrive
At night in secret
Or openly at noon
Still our bodies
Are the oldest things
On the earth
And still of the most
Questionable worth
When the cat flew
Up into the yellow
Quietly waiting tree
The branches shook
And every leaf dropped
To the ground at once
Except for a last few
Drifting down with the cat’s
And my astonishment
Like people who die together
In large groups at once
Plunging over the line
Bodies left behind
Between this life and the next
Proof there is one
When we feel made
To do something even
When it’s something we
Might otherwise do
We resist it naturally
As free spirits must
Insist upon their own
Freedom as the basis
For all valuing
And humanity
If as a species
It is to survive
The predations
Of its own
Hungry soul
Old pomegranate tree
Your fruit are rotten
But your flowers are sweet
In the spring and
Your shade in summer
But for a few weeks
Every year you stand
Naked and alone
In the cold nights
While the moon and stars
Fit you out with a whole
New plan for yourself
As a mast with sails
Or a raft of limbs
But every spring somehow
When we’re not looking
You come back to us
Your flesh-colored
Flowers first
It can be useful in a lifetime
To have made a close study
Of at least one other person
Or of several perhaps less intimate
But unusually attentive encounters
Until you begin to develop
A sensibility for the incalculable
Which can feel amateurish at first
And gradually building waves
Of deep sorrow and deep happiness
Can threaten to overwhelm you
And definitely do at times
But it seems only by such means
Are we capable of moving forward
When I woke up
I saw the yard
Was laid out
Like the soul
With the usual
Tree at the center
Its space was its life
Its time was matter
But what’s a soul for
If the tree that holds
The light in its slowly
Unwinding arms
Not also hold
The whole yard
The whole I
And sky
Today I wanted
Your body close
More than your soul
But you have taken
It back into
Invisible spaces
And I can find
Your image only
In forgotten pictures
So I went back
To the places of your
first appearances to me
and the winter
I first held you
And got warmed
My life flies by
So fast dear Lord
How can I keep
Up with you
I keep trying
To lie down in
Those green pastures
You promised or
Was that just some
Psalmist’s flattery
To win your favor
My lord of night
And day my fly
By night my
Light by day
At twilight the stray cat
Goes hunting in the tall
grass
Out behind the houses
The three-quarter moon
In hazy pursuit
Maybe the fighting
In so many homes
The yelling and screaming
Is what finally becomes
The fighting that moves out
Into the streets as war
And chaos meanwhile
The sky fills with
Alternating bands
Of blue and pink
And then that final
Chrome oxide green
The moon wipes clean
His last photograph
Was of a few pale and
Broken corn stalks
Stranded in old snow
The wind was blowing
Their tattered leaves so
It looked like a cross
Between an Indian
Burial ground from
The movies of my youth
And Van Gogh’s Crows
In a Cornfield with
all
His terrifying colors
Washed down to dirty
Whites and hazy browns
Not unlike the sepia of
the very
First photographs ever
taken
The colors of the blind end
And you my dear fig tree
Need to pull yourself
together
But why did you plant me
here
If you don’t intend to
take care
Of me I am taking care of
you
It’s just winter why do
You never remember winter
We go through this every
year
First you lose your hair
And then your memory
Goes this tawny yellow
Which I sweep into piles
I think you need some medicine
And boy do I have just
The compost tea for you
There in the middle
Of the path a large
blue feather fell right
in front of me like a sign
or a blessing and yet
when I look back on my
life
I’m astonished by how
Many gifts I was given
And turned away from
How many simple things
I left untouched but now
I know I’ll never die
I’ll live life differently
Next chance I get
Not hedging my bet
We will be lovers yet
My gastroenterologist
Is a short fat gourmand
My barber is bald
My heart surgeon
Just married his fifth
blond
My confessor is a
transvestite
My connection is
agoraphobic
My convictions just left
town
But by Monday I felt
profound
My butcher wanted a pound
My undertaker came around
Had me lie down on the
ground
Said I’d get used to it
When peace I’d found
In the new book of my
dying
Which I have all along
been sketching
It turns out in the back
of my brain
I try to venture something
further
Than my earlier
never-completed
Volumes on the same theme
Which failed to balance
satisfactorily
The reality of death
against
The abstract actuality of
love
Which drives the world
In noble and sentimental
ways
Those who say only death
Will tell you the truth
And those who know
That’s what love is for
On the tree of the
knowledge
Of good and evil hung
The tortured body of their
son
One hand nailed by evil
The other nailed by good
As on the tree of freedom
Hung the body of love
Among thieves and angels
No one below
No one above
There in the mud
Or walking on the water
A sudden gush of blood
And it was over
Except forever after
Thinking predates us
Thinking that is not
Our thinking or not
Any longer experienced
As ours but the thoughts
Were there before we
Could perceive them
Like trees in fog
We kept bumping into
Thus injury’s among our
First inspirations
As still amateur sufferers
And struggling
Beginning thinkers
There is sin but never
failure
In a white horse running
Up into snowy hills and
Slowly disappearing
But the gods don’t
experiment
They perfect so there
Can be no failure
Even apart from them
Transcendence awaits that
horse
And we will succeed
ourselves
One enlightenment at a
time
Though there will be acts
of suffering
Apparently mostly
prearranged
But not one failure
The very idea of failure
Is as perverse as it is
persuasive
But it still isn’t failure
Like the flight to
intelligence
As if the gods hung out
there
How can I make
Peace with the world
When the world is so
Terrifyingly sweet and
So beautifully evil
Except it was you
Who showed me
The cathedral at the
Bottom of the lake
And the fresco of St Anne
Salvaged from history
With her finger on her
lips
Eyes wide with surprise
Noticing you noticing
Her Mary’s pregnant glow
And no man in sight
Just a dove in flight
Even though we do come
back
And live many separate lives
in time
Each evolving our own
mythologies
It’s the uniqueness of
each life
That moves me the most to
tears
Laughter and applause
That our I’s could live
In all these different
bodies
And arrange to meet again
Even if not at first
recognizing
One another but feeling
Reeled in to one another’s
Quite specific
conflagration
Which only love endures
Like the one spoon
In the drawer turned
Upside down you
Come back to me
To be turned around
As you once turned
Your head away abashed
By my love
That it could happen
The impossible
And yet that’s all that
does
Now that we’ve exhausted
All the possible worlds
Had to get my glasses
And then the binoculars
And there it was the soul
Of the curve-billed thrasher
Atop the ailing orange
tree
With his orange-red eye
I mean the song flowing
Out of the same mouth
He digs holes with I find
In my yard what could
He be wanting I wondered
Beetles worms my heart
And then he sang
Love that always
Give itself away
The way stillness augurs
death
Bees play into these
rotting pomegranates
A small oval of sun
crosses
An empty clearing in your thoughts
Such quiet and such
commotion
Like lights switched on
and off
The colder nights inspiring
love
The sunny days filled with
death
And your own as in a crowd
Among them in a foreign
city
Miles away so you’re still
safe
As long as you stay still
Or run as fast as you can
Every day a few blocks
So you’re not here
When he knocks
Naturally if you put
A blue sky together
With a yellow sun
You get the green
Of grass and trees
A green so hungry
For red it flows
Eventually at last
Into rivers of blood
Lifted into clouds
Of snow falling
Into darkness all
This for a child
Returning to a cave
