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Thursday, July 4, 2013


Another poem from CRUISIN' AT THE LIMIT, Selected poems 1968-78, published by Duck Down Press, Fallon, NV. 1982.


Grey clouds of unknowing
if the answer were just
it would hold up its head
like the rest of us.

I could talk about her hair, the way the country
moves in it, making cities and towns shine oh heart
with its rose, oh reminder of the weaver, sayer of the name.

Out she came from Belvador w’hands that sang themselves
into the air and gathered to her animals and birds, sparrows
in rings around her good feet and loved them all she did.

And wind across the desert under stars, they come and go
with their bands of dogs, travelers to the other fair,
I’ve seen you there among them, caught at your ankle
and tossed you down laughing to the silks, camel smell
on your body, you said you were the watering maid
and I was son to whom?  It comes and goes so quickly
I miss the shape of your foot, the lashes of your eyes
so quick there.

Who has in hand the answer fair
I would give them to the fire
who has in hand the dreamer’s light
You’re well to call them liar.

Come out with me, come out with me
the night the stars are flame
all opened up like rose and tooth...
it shall not come again.

And what then this bird that rides above the words?
A sparrow or a dove it matters not,
it flies, it flies, it flies. 

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