Remembering the inward dreams that don’t go away

Remembering the inward dreams that don’t go away
The small silences of early morning….
The wanderer in me now
Among the warrior uncles of my youth….

The porch light of those summers in Oklahoma bathed in circling moths

Shimmering as heat over the wheat fields…

Shimmering in hard life and peyote moons….

A grey heron….

Standing on one leg

In the still spirited waters

Of twelve mile point…..

Foggia ghetto
April 30,19

In the rain just now

In the rain just now
Before dusk…

The smallest stones on the shoreline light their lamps….

Every morning the same songs unsung
Hang from the trees where the owls sleep….

Soft songs melting through the leaves

The fragile leaves….

Hiding among the death masks
The still open hands….

Over which a song I have dreamt all my life

Is sounding….

The songs
Foggia italy
April 27.19

Here in the unspoken

 

Here in the unspoken….
Where a dead lover

immaculate in her

Invisibility….

Brought me to a flowing river….

Late afternoon

 

The trees ascending into the water….

Where her eyes opened for the last time
forever….

Whispering

This is where dreams bring their wounded…
This is where dreams cross over leaving
us….

This is where dreams….
Come to die….

From the stronghold

April 2 19

For pat.

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