Stones and Snakes

Remembrance is a butcher's
where lively blood
drains from lifeless things
Strange thought,
to look for succor here

In search of the rock
where the water springs
and the shoots might grow

the rock
that is higher
than my head,
that is higher than my head

the rock

Poised and hung,
positioned,
laid upon the gambrels

suspended on the
hanging-wire
between felt sin
(known guilt, the
consciousness of evil)

and the possibility of human goodness

a thought which has
for me both
power and pain
(the words alone can
give me chills)

The possibility of human goodness

The rock above my head

Et dixit Iesu:
ergo vos, cum sitis mali,
nostis bona data dare
filiis vestris...

On the Death of an Opossum

Noble liar, thy lie at last

Has come home to thee!

Thou couldst not long

Trick the trickster, Death

(Thy fate as well as mine,

The finger of almighty God

Crooked to claim thee).

This at least I can say for thee,

That death has scarcely made

Thee smell the worse, though,

Indeed, thou art now the more

Pungent since breath has left

Thy lungs (Lord, he stinketh),

But only by the thousandth part.

But, heart, dear Opossum!

This little dignity

Death has granted thee,

That thou art to me

Now an inconveniency.

I, who hated thee and thy kind

(Threadbare rats! with ragged tail),

Find thee in my way and on my mind,

Dead beside the safety rail—

And gladly leave thee behind.

Musik Macht Traurig

I went walking through

these halls like Jeremiah

in Jerusalem. This roof

will be my temple, this

stream shall be the Jordan.

The banks I will name

Mamre, though there is

here no oak (to my dismay).

How can I sing the

Lord’s song without

the choir?

Let crickets be the choir,
let there be an assembly
of stones. Exiles cannot
ask for better.

Only—my God!—let there

be a sound of thunder

and a smell of pine,

a smell of pine and

the cold salt of the sea.

The Profit and Loss

The telling of stories

now is out of fashion,

more’s the pity.

How tempting, how easy

it would be (I say in

my coward heart) to be

a prophet of the light,

herald to the sun!

Peace to the people, one could

say—even if there is no

peace. (Is there some

tincture in this tired air?

I did not mean to speak the truth.)

Peace to the people,

even peace!, and not

a voice among voices,

an uncut stone,

and blood from the mouth

and the taste

of blood

in the teeth

To California then I came,

drowning, drying—

the land of fruits and

nuts, they say with a

smirk (the despite of

ignorance being, with me

as with others, the besetting

sin). To California then I

came and sought purchase

in the sand.

I have suffered some

unlooked for revolt

of self from self, a

victory of kidney

over brain. (Some

things are too slight

for speaking, even in

the splendid silence

the pen is heir to.)

Miserere: miserere mei,

miserere nobis. (Most

merciful Father.)

Herr,

Segne dieses Haus

Und alle, die da gehen

Ein und aus.

His the kingdom (Amen),

His the power (Amen),

His the glory (Amen),

Forever and ever.

Amen, amen, and amen.

SDG

AMDG 

To RHE

As though mercy
were not a whirlwind,
nor rescue a cataract!

Have you not felt
the tremors that
spiderweb across the
seas, fractal and
fracturing, convulsing
as they pass?

Have you not
known in your
marrow the desperation
of security?
Deliver us, we
pray, from our
contentment and from our
peace of mind.

Have mercy on us
when mercy cannot
be. All mortal good—
immortal wrought.
All deeds are done in Spirit.

Pity,
love, and mercy,
love and mercy,
mercy, mercy,
mercy.

Flesh and Ink

I grow weary of lines
Drawn by human hand
Turned in and out
And away
And against
I am tired of pencil-lines

Speak to me, love
Plant words with earth and water
In my echo-chamber chest
Words grow like bones
The woven frame
The inner chasm

Weaver, hunter,
Sower, reaper,
Man of war,
And master-maker,

I tire of these pencil-lines

The Oracles of St-Etienne

Christe, eleison, Christe, eleison,
Eleison, eleison

All creatures have roots,
Bird and beast, stock and stone,
All living things have roots

You have heard the names
In passing,
Whispered through the tall grass,
Whispered through human lips,
Whispered through lips to ears

Lonesome and loving,
With pain in the chest,
Heard the names
In passing

Be kind to each other, babies,
Be kind—little children,
Love one another,
We are all the people we have
And we must make each other last

You may have felt the pinch of fingers,
But be unafraid: all hands are not
Raised in anger
Behold the mender,
Made unmade

Kyrie, eleison
Eleison, eleison

Kyrie, eleison, eleison
Kyrie