When the Old Times Call
Walking this morning
I thought of my
Great grandfather
Who sawed boards
For coffins
In the far north…
He looked at trees
In varied ways…
**
A Short Story
Night confession is hard and long
Watching the exhaust
From the car in front of you
Mile after mile…
**
For the simple reason
That many may think otherwise
I listen to my blind eyeballs
**
Hawks get rowdy with each other in the woods
But misery has a shrewder voice
Moon setting
in the autumn morning, dips
like a vessel
Glides like a sail through heaven
**
Immanence and impermanence–my brothers
I think hard about you
Two crickets outside Water falls on my wrist
When I wash a cup
**
In short: every ritual should astonish human arrangements
*
Dear Blue: I wasn’t really a blind child at all, but one of the ghosts who rang Strindberg’s doorbell
**
I like Beethoven’s last string quartets
I like broken windows in abandoned country houses
I like crows on telephone wires
And Boolean Algebra and rain in winter
Planet of the Blind 