Root Cap

a savage nest

the dark light carries is what holds us together from the start & without this
the dark light would carry no morning tomorrow

the stars

Sun Spot

at first, a tomb is without that which comes within
and yet it lives to let out what will come to be—this "without"
only alive within because "at first" is such that even light
is a dark pressed against its concealing

it takes time to bury the dead
bare the dark so that nothing gathers to beget
& scatter what was concealed from the start

my blindness

memory

for every root in the dark a life-ring is what death
lays aside & for every leaf the light for every root
what tree-rings is a future a sun will never mark

a dead redwood

fruit

death  is a heat in the deep where a root is to yield
to sleep the power of fire

and the cold there stored?
the use of a future that will bear a deep a stone of desire

the sun

the bright dark (or mourning's glory)

 

an empty seed bares a flower
as if the dark is an effort of what seeks appearance
& as if to appear (the presence of what will
cover again the endeavoring brilliance)
is, in the distance, what bares nothing

the spot

neigh-bor

in the way the future is our past
what we have remembered is surrendered in a glance
but in the way where others are why
is what we have surrendered, memorialized?

a prolonged cry

Worship

the floodplain is a homecoming
away is the ocean
& what is not yet, the pouring out of a mountain

who holds the yet of a deathless bearing
if in away, yet is the bringing rain
they will celebrate

an ancestor

What's the hurry?

to love the dark is to think
& to think is like sleep in that thought is like a dream
that comes, well, thoughtlessly, whereas to reason
is a light full of an effort to be that which wakes
thought (needlessly?)—this naught from which
we think the thought to grow is the touch of love
we die for

a bed of clover

pregnant

if to bear is to carry what the future holds
to bury is to hold what the future carries

the wind