At River Bend

.

April

I

First blue day –

mint on the water.

.

Above the clothes line

a wedge tailed eagle

does not mention me.

.

All my plans

aren’t a woman

now I am here.

.

With my thought I snatch

the fishtail –

passing future.

.

Is this a path?

Or is it my eyes

who are tame?

.

When will my memories

learn non-attachment?

.

One month passes

more slowly than the moon.

.

II

Slipping on the lazy morning

the sun wheel gifts me

her spare hour.

.

Tomorrow is clean as stripped bark;

still, today is not a tree.

.

Green grass wears

a blue face.

.

The day moon

upsets

our picture books.

.

When is this present?

I don’t remember it.

.

Arriving is

hot in the hall.

.

A held breath

breaks

on laughter.

.

Talk happy

tangled in sun.

.

How can I remember in time,

not to rush?

.

III

Too quickly passes

the beauty

of the river.

.

This gold guitar is all that’s left

of the yellow moon.

.

What is silence,

that it is brought by the loud rain?

.

If I turn in

am I sleeping or entering?

.

Because only God is perfect,

on such a night

we will spill a little wine on the carpet.

.

May

I

My words spilled before strangers

are strangers.

.

What white face stands

opposite truth?

.

She is there.

Why can’t I lift her

out of my eyes?

.

When there is no reason,

there is the pink dawn.

.

Rain brightly breaks

into my solitude.

.

You have buried a cloud

beneath the path.

.

Is it you

or the day

who passes?

.

What is the river,

that when I open my door

it comes in?

.

II

The twitching grass –

I see you rain!

.

The glowing moss

is eating

the light.

.

Yellow moon through wood-smoke

(memory rising).

.

Can you see the clearing

for which I am longing?

.

As we talk

hot chestnuts

burn my fingers.

.

It’s easy

lighting candles

for the bath.

.

III

More rain!

Do you want to fall to Earth

old sky?

.

The cold in stones

is trying to leave.

.

Is smoke the future

or the memory

of fire?

.

I sadly grow accustomed

to beauty.

.

Only midnight.

What luxury!

Seven more hours to sleep.

.

Where does terror go

when we wake?

.

Gum trees rock softly,

cradles

in the wind.

.

Night tenderness –

cicadas after rain.

.

June

I

Beautiful dawn

blows clean.

.

The animal has lost

her burrow,

night.

.

Old typewriter,

words pass through

with suitcases.

.

Memory – a scent

I cannot place.

.

A house

can be

a well.

.

II

The wane of year –

each day sliced thin.

.

The blue lipped land

has eaten my time.

.

Winter pollen – the bee

calm on my foot.

.

An old spirit:

smoke in your hair.

.

Cold creaks her body

through my body.

.

I will learn from the river

how she leaves.

.

III

Come!

We have something to travel.

.

The end of home;

I pack away my mind.

.

The longest night –

talk

our fire in space.

.

Embers smack

their toothless lips.

.

Sudden rain –

cleanse me with falling!

.

Spring is a memory

of what comes.