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.