just say no

no na po wri mo for me

Willow in Spring Wind: A Showing

Pointless homesickness. Pointless shudderings.

Wind now clockwise: surrendering this way.

Wind now counter: surrendering that.

Wide tree with its good throat up from the dark

flinging forth embroiderings of inaudibles,

limbs jerked like a cough -- then like a credo, flung --

then broken oars; then oars not broken at all but thrumming in

unison into

the open sea of my

watching.

Clasp me, trellis of glancings,

delicatest machine--

body of the absconding god--

replacing something (I know not what)--

undulating, muttering liqudly...

Is it my glance or is it the willow kneeling wildly now

as if looking for corpses,

dragging its alphabet of buds all along the gravelly walk--

scraping -- ripping -- along the seemingly insatiable

hardness of gravel? Also the limestone wall they slap...

Where is the sharp edge that we seek?  Where

                                 the open mouth? --

the true roughness -- halo distended --

glittering with exaggeration --

dazzling the still philosophies --

by Jorie Graham

swamp pearls

Tromping in underbrush picking my way through skunk cabbage I stumbled on islands of pea green squishiness, where tadpole eggs gestate, about to break out, greenness in general being desperate here for rejuvenation. Strangelets, these beads of life, like the offspring of protons. Go ahead, consummate. 

--what she dreamed of was disappearing into the seen

writes Jorie Graham in "Orpheus and Eurydice" and it's that time of the year, the in between, just before he looks back, in between the before and the after, before the turning. I smell it when I run.  I'm on my way there.