Time Lines

and the deer came
on long legs between the trees

and clashed antlers with a sound
old and dry as the wind

gnats danced as if
summer had returned

for one day only
everything must go

through a gray mist that may
have been in my head

i measured the mountain
with my body pacing it out

i walked among birches
nothing but blank pages

overtook milkweed
giving birth to clouds

looped past the wild gravevines
their convolutions laid bare

following the bed
of an old coal railroad

with the leaves mostly down
saw far below

the remains of a car wheels-up
among deer-tongue grass

abandoned halfway through
the age of fishes

when seas saved
the mud of ancestral mountains

for 62 million years
until a mass extinction

getting younger
as i climbed

into the age of amphibians
and giant dragonflies

pressed into rock by later layers
now sloughed off

and the horizon opened like a rose
on ever more mountains

Poem Beginning with a Line by Farough Farrokhzad

let us believe in the ruined
gardens of imagination

even in autumn rain
there’s still such radiance

leaves underfoot whisper
my wishbone song

really just a rhythm imposed
on the slow fires of decay

but now church bells
make for a glistening listen

the dead have nothing
and everything to do

with the emptiness
of numbers

their carnival is upon us
scarlet oaks glowing

on a mountainside
of charred pine stumps

witch hazels dangling
sun-colored sex flags

and a woodpecker sounding
like a clown on amphetamines

my phone can find
the bleakest news in seconds

a shaggy mane mushroom
dissolves into ink

Unsettler: An Affirmation

i am prey
i am mammal

pure fear
fires my pistons

my eyebrows
can pupate

i have outgrown
my own hair

earth-bound
descended from the trees

i drink from the gray
breasts of clouds

on hind legs
i hone myself

to the thinness
of a blade of grass

ready for the four
stomachs of a cow

or the wind
to whistle

i speak of the devil
of dust

In the Sticks

everything forks and branches
you can’t get there from here

unless you go sideways first
like a knight in chess

or a long-tailed weasel
hunting in the stiltgrass

you must run out
of luck or lumber

get saved by a discount preacher
behind the barbecue shack

lose an argument
with the moss

wonder what horrors
lie hidden beneath your feet

wrapped in duct tape
sealed in mason jars

but you learn the new
bump and grind

of mountaintop draglines
or fracking rigs

the way a chainsaw mutters
between screams

how the creek can rise
from a lullaby to a roar

and wash away all
our post-industrial middens

how there’s a rambling rose
that blooms every june

in the small of the back
of beyond

Hollow Folk

without issue i can feel the forest
thicken within me

build up fuel and hunger
for that incendiary spark

ah to slash and burn
plow and harrow with my ancestors

or cut down the old giants
and replace them with windmills

deadly flowers scything
the air for migrants

our doom laid out
like a meal for ravens

fates intertwining like fingers
at a lovers’ leap

a mile and a half up a mountain hollow
under the green banners of the sun

I live above a crawl space
too poor for a cellar

my garden is a banquet
for slugs and meadow voles

the wild mountain mint hums
with solitary bees

Gray matter

underfoot the piece
meal of it

what was once gray sand
now glitters under lichen

after dark the lunar
landscape of it

shivery with crickets
dense with ambiguities

the way bare wood weathers
or old snow collects grime

aging in place
lost in a maze of cracks

i have taken my micro
dose of humility

the high line buzzes
with ghosts of power

Self-censor

these days i wear wonder
like a broad-brimmed hat

when the moon is dead empty
i try to lose my shadow

i cut what i thought were tethers
they turn out to be roots

when i stop writing on paper
the trees become less hostile

i could swallow what’s left of my fire
and tend bees

i would write myself out of history
line by painstaking line

The will to sadness

“la volonté de tristesse”—drawing by Alejandra Pizarnik (from The Galloping Hour: French Poems)

one ought to remain at least
partially buried at all times

let lost pieces of oneself
get eaten by opossums

one must learn to read the paper
upside-down and backwards

give names to the flies
but not to the joyful spider

and when one is invited to dance
one must not cling as if drowning

one who is oneself
a sort of small salt lake

one must follow decorum
as one follows the weather

everything one knows about rhythm
one learned from the rain