the hills, obsidian,
as the stars wheeling halt;
twig and bark curling in the fire
kindle clusters of sparks.
Steer north, then, to Taos, where
the river, running deeper, cuts a gorge,
and at midnight the moon
waxes; minnows scatter
at your step,
the boat is moored to sky.
Three a.m., in Winter
When I went to Zuni,
my mind was a singing arrow; the black desert
was shining, and I flew,
a green peyote bird, in the wind’s eye …
It’s three a.m., and
the road to Zuni is buried in snow.
Thinking of you, I taste green wine,
I touch sparks, I fly.
Lament
Let me pick
olives in the moonlight.
Let me ride
a pale green horse.
Let me taste the autumn fires.
Or else,
let me die in a war.
No Hieroglyphics
No hieroglyphics but the bird singing in the throat of the tree.
When I walk home, my hair bristling, hear you read
by the hearth in slow fire. No calendars
to twist days into years or
months back to seconds.
We live in fear.
But open our
lives to the sea.
Walk on water with the
moon. Stars, stars! No one to
teach. That the long day slips into night.
As the mind withers in the tree. But only to sail
a boat without wind. Down the endless river. The sand running out.
Wang Wei
At my window
the rain raves, raves about dying,
and does not
hear in the bamboo
a zither, which, plucked,
inebriates the birds
and brings closer to the heart
the moon.
Morning Shutters
We extend arms
infinitely long
into the sunrise.
Then the shutters close,
and we begin
the slow, painful
step of learning
shadows in the dark.
My hand goes to your thigh.
The hills
high above us
shine in the heat.
Now, the whites of your eyes
are filled
with the lost years.
Lupine
I planted lupine and nasturtiums
in the dark April dirt. Who heard the passing
cars or trucks? I was held
by your face, eclipsed, in partial light.
I sip hibiscus tea, and am at peace
in the purple dusk.
“Kwan, kwan,” cries a bird, distant,
in the pines.
Do Not Speak Keresan to a Mescalero Apache
Do not speak
Keresan to a Mescalero Apache,
but cultivate
private languages;
a cottonwood
as it disintegrates into gold,
or a house
nailed into the earth:
the dirt road
into that reservation
is unmarked.
Dazzled
1982
Viewing Photographs of China
Viewing photographs of China,
we visit a pearl farm, factories, and
watch a woman stare at us ten
minutes
