On the path to the river,
nature’s rarest colors:
cadmium. Blue that once meant
holiness. White here stands for
cool observation:
telephone wires ruled low
across the tree line, steeple
a shard or tooth
investigating heaven. Why do you study
so slowly
and pray so fast?
A young maple
lets loose a chord of leaves.
Opening notes of autumn:
step over the waste
of wild apples softening
in bluestem, take
what’s still clinging,
its unexpected sugar.
Once tame-seeds
spun far
from cultivation.
Each smooth stone
a standing prayer
water pronounces
daily, counts
coin-like: who
by who by who.
Multiplies by
our likely endings: wandering
by sword by beast
by thirst. Across the eye,
concentrations of light’s
labor—black eyed
Susan, cardinal—and its
diffusions: blurred faces
of trees, family of partridges.
In winter,
these materials in relief:
fresco of refuse, rooftops
bowed with snow and
unasked questions.
To ask
forgiveness, I trace
my outline of soot and cheap fabric,
argument
and salt, give away what I can.
