Knowledge of the Gods

Now that we know the weather
Doesn’t dim at heartache
Doesn’t change for murder

Now that we know the weather
Doesn’t mirror our hate
We know too much to vindicate

Now that we know the weather
Doesn’t dim at heartache

Now that we know
We know

Daedalus the Past

Sure, a person or two
Have met bad ends
For knowing you
Sure, there's that

Strangeness about
Your kid, withdrawn
Bumbling, afraid
that bespeaks bad

Upbring, sure
No one knows where
Your wife went, sure
Your nephew fell

Oddly from a height
Still, you've got
The touch, don't you?
Despite the murders

You've got the touch

The Snake, The Soul, The Infant

Three sounds no one hears
The rabbi said—the snake
Shedding its skin; the soul
Leaving the body; and birth

Change is silent
Surrender keeps to itself
Starting anew does not boast

Silences that sink into earth
Awakened only in the mind
Echoes of yes and yes and yes

Holy, Holy

Convenient that spot
Solomon, Abraham
Jesus, Mohammed,

And such all
All the same spot

Arc of the Covenant
Deep hidden things
Conspiracies and such
Holy, holy grail

In the desert
In the desert
Beyond the sea

Convenient that spot
Knights Templar
Solomon, Masons

And such all
All the same spot

Hidden lineages
Conspiracies and such
Holy, holy grail

Convenient, that spot

Clearing the Way

Sad a road
That leads behind

A house and
The house gone

Sad a wile
An intention exposed

Sad an old chimney
Falling to stones

Sad a branch budding
Green smashed down

Sad the loss
Slower in showing

Blue sky
Bird song

Sad the room for renewal
Food cooking

A fire far off
Clearing the way

More Rich in Hope

I see that you’re dead
In the alum news
Dear poet, so beautiful
So rich, such daffodil
In your youth, so perfect

That envy wasn’t the word
(I scoffed at the titles
Of your poems—you
Were that good) envy
Wasn’t the word—desire

Desiring your art
Your scope, your beauty
And you dead now
By your own hand (your
Only clichéd image)
A flower cut back into

Brown, your own hand
Your own madness
Dear poet, so beautiful
That envy wasn’t the word
All your own always

Falling

This is just about
The spot you fell

Approximately
You understand

Just about here
No, you wouldn’t

Remember, that’s
The thing about

Falling like that
You don’t

Remember the
Spot you fell, not

After you fall on
The black ice

The path forgotten
That’s the thing

About falling