Monday, December 29, 2014


It is my winter legend, as if I had
walked far through a tunnel or trench,
my winter legend as if I had survived
all I have survived but at once

and this hovering blue light touches
all my gentler desires

(and my harsher desires are wrought
of hot wax and fire. Lovingly I will
dig a hole big enough for my body
in the sand of this age.)

I am almost as fearless as if
I had knowledge of nothing.

In Dutch Flat it is freezing
but not snowing.

The coal sleeps one foot below
the frost.

The pines shake and hiss:
I feel I'm yours forever, stranger land.

I negotiate the body warm and
pulsing. I negotiate its past pains
on this present day.

I know how frightened you are of fear,
of bad dreams, how frightening
the consequences of mindless movements-

but continue out of curiosity
or want of heat.

I have such an abundance of both,
stranger land.

The compass of my silent part, of my
Silent Part, is spinning.

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