Poems

Dante’s tree

it flakes off and exposes blood
makes a sea in the ground
 
trembling in every vein
you open late
 
from such a small wind you may fall
wash your face
 
in salt  
at high tide
 
shoulder your pack
the slap of wave up to your knees
 
you should have known you were in trouble
the deep blue sky, the tinged knife-edge
 
of sunshine
so simple it has always been like this
 
but curved outward at the top
farther back many trees
 
silver-tipped at the window
like some real thing   

 

 

Tenement ethics

For Ivano Fermini

it’s the naked tendons that beget absence
in murky locked territory the years
are entry to the not wanted and ruined
moment then each of the dead doggedly
pretty divides the stream with a nerve
into unexpected meaning a story
of a guest wandering more lips than welcome
with a loss which bodies its curtain
down the shadowy interior rain
unnerves the order of recounted faces
which love logically with their masks
unreliable as the taste of sun the white
self quiets with its editing an abyss
becomes a doorway rubble finds form

 

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