nothing flees into immortality without consequence. not
the storm of death. not the rush-to-sea of utter forgetfulness
never into “divine” emptiness—an infinite absent decay
eternity not even the void a seed evacuates. the everlasting(the dying say)
is not free! this nothing charges the soul life of the body
unable to grow while hidden away
it resists a kind of seedness whose integuments
deny a crown fire its forgetfulness
opens remembering what comes in a dry wind
roots withstand (among the buried) to stiffen
& increase in distance what rings this presence
this that endures the flourishing
until the one seed's bright tree perishes
& in its place gathered against the dark
accumulation of weathered rock
(what one ring after another had gripped
surrounded with a sunny insistence)
a soul surrendered, sexed & ready to impregnate
only when they perish & sprout holes to grow
will the garden stuff (in death they’re souls) bury roots
in a ruin where immortality is soil
a soul is like a hole being that holes are what fill the absence
that surrenders the presence of young roots that leave seeds
to seek what will be their endeavoring: generous stars (holes in fulfillment!)
surrounded by the soul’s overwhelming effort
common dirt
breath is taken when love dies we say
he has passed away like a river frighten
by the passing waves that drown on shore
the way a passing storm that downs a tree
frightens crying geese as darkness sways
cold twilight! we say a friend has died
love’s past our side we drift alone! past our breath
down the way where trees like geese
as they dive the black flood to sea
well before light was effort, effort was in the distance & distance was love’s endeavor for if not first apart what could come together?
and though every future's this what, what light could not reach (would not?
did not?) only increased
the distance that grows beyond the most distant star
opens up like a seed—like anything that may be illuminated
when first its “embryonic root” is buried
our future is a distance which is like a seed & a seed can be like the ring of a tree whose seal divides from itself a distance so as to grow tree-like with (a-motion-backward) remembering & such a distance is what shapes the sealing from this steadfastness so it might anticipate its distances in the influences of earth & air
of water & fire—beings which tend to gather into rings & press upon our future what in the distance looks like a careless scattering
cold embryos (in springtime on Werner Peak, Montana)
at the end it begins & this it an emptying that ends in a storm that rains with the sea; an it as the end of a sea that rivers a valley; an ending like the coming of fall when a river again by sea will it begin; these dead streams the end of a snow when seas had perished high in the mountains.
if by “over there” it begins, is it out of an end like a dark that would shine but for the lack of sunlight? an emptiness beginning like a sea but for the lack of a sphere? to begin is to never be but this & to end is the same because in it by either goes the other away.
blue sky
fulfillment for what is promised in their spacious offering, for what is due; absence the expectant creek-beds are parched with, what assumes abandon root pores; a going-away green in fire pregnant of brush, aborted by rain (a wind not penetrate the way thirst was) a swelling bacterium waits on like an embryo the heat of the great horn; an obscure patch of increase beneath the influence of a sea are what the dead have made room for, is a nest by which even a speck of dust is an egg that makes love useful
a pacific storm
because death is an undying body for the one illuminated
it goes away when we die but while alive it comes to us
with a dark that should it die a body would go away forever
like a god & not like a fly
yuba river
into a clearing where it is perspicuous, warm & naked
where in going-away it brings the infant field, a teat of sun
& the sing-song of wings while in coming-from-afar a proximity
of god & oblivion resisting absence even as it seeks to abandon
we who breath—obscure transparency—concealed in a face flowers
beckon with, clearing-out of what we no more seek than night
lightning a dry wind or an old day the immolation of heaven
Pontia protodice
look for not light but an ant to perfect the sun for ovules in the wind & a womb
in the earth to perfect its time or immortality what a flower & fly perfect always darkness what the fully accomplished their wild ruin require never a perfection what from the promiscuous emptiness love perfects & a star is born to worship
imperfect starlight—it perfects a view
of heaven
just as perpetual dark—an imperfect tomb
will a womb
a wild abandoned (immortality welcome!) the perpetuations pushed
outside—shunted, the everlasting—here is a garden so hospitable even death
last but a lifetime
Squash Blossom
what in the wilderness is able in the garden is care?
where the soil of stars conspire, carefully the toil of a sun
grows the hungry spoil? it’s the dead who endure
the capable ruin—the resistant cultivar & devoted
gardener waste under their care
Great Horned Owl
if birth is what ecstasy surrenders to intercourse (like remembrance, what pores surrender to sediment!) & communion what effort surrenders to the blessed
as desire what wings surrender to wind or issue what the dead surrender
to ferment, than is love what holes surrender to this—conception, what eggs the everlasting conceives of emptiness, surrendering to soil what i will make of it?
