The wind shrills forth 

From the white cold North 

Where the gates of the Storm-god are; 

And ragged clouds, 

Like mantling shrouds,

Engulf the last, dim star. 

Through naked trees, 

In low coulees, 

The night-voice moans and sighs; 

And sings of deep, 

Warm cradled sleep, 

With wind-crooned lullabies. 

He stands alone 

Where the storm’s weird tone

In mocking swells; 

And the snow-sharp breath 

Of cruel Death 

The tales of its coming tells. 

The frightened plaint

Of his sheep sound faint

Then the choking wall of white—

Then is heard no more, 

In the deep-toned roar, 

Of the blinding, pathless night. 

No light nor guide,

Save a mighty tide

Of mad fear drives him on;

’Till his cold-numbed form 

Grows strangely warm;

And the strength of his limbs is gone. 

Through the storm and night

A strange, soft light 

O’er the sleeping shepherd gleams;

And he hears the word 

Of the Shepherd Lord 

Called out from the bourne of dreams. 

Come, leave the strife 

Of your weary life;

Come unto Me and rest 

From the night and cold, 

To the sheltered fold,

By the hand of love caressed. 

The storm shrieks on,

But its work is done—

A soul to its God has fled;

And the wild refrain 

Of the wind-swept plain, 

Sings requiem for the dead.

I believe that witness is a magnitude of vulnerability.
That when I say love what I mean is not a feeling
nor promise of a feeling. I believe in attention.
My love for you is a monolith of try.

The woman I love pays an inordinate amount
of attention to large and small objects. She is not
described by anything. Because I could not mean anything else,
she knows exactly what I mean.

Once upon a time a line saw itself
clear to its end. I have seen the shape
of happiness. (y=mx+b)
I am holding it. It is your hand.

missing Melissa – dust turned to waves

in the desert – okra coming up two months

too late – a forward breaking gate opening

into someone else’s field – I walk by

a window and I do not understand how little I see

you – but so clearly the wasp backing out

of a hole inside a long dead

tree – when we were children we lived

with our grandparents and I remember without

sadness mostly the sound of tires screaming into

the street – the porchlight welcomes

whatever intercepts it – I praise

insistence – I kiss

my love because our best friend died

when we were 5 years old – a brain tumor –

and then again at 7, 11, 17…43 – bodies

killing themselves by growing

beyond their own capacity – I am building

a bed for our visitors – it is infuriating how little

I understand about re-joining wood already broken

piece by piece – anticipate everything

I hear God saying to no one – I am still listening

when you stop, for a moment, breathing

in your sleep – I am recognizable

now as a part of the man who made me –

every man is a suspect – inside my own mouth

I am annoyed by who I cannot seem to be –

do you miss this Melissa – every part of our body

is ash aching to be reminded it is ash – unlike fire

reaching through the face of every forest

in order to be incited by wind or offered

some relief – I’ve learned to flinch

by standing absolutely still – it isn’t death exactly living

without you – the purpose of a rope

is to borrow someone else’s strength – that’s why

I’m calling you – when I pray I hear nothing

so clearly as our new voice

singe-scoured and full of disbelief –

Sometimes I tremble like a storm-swept flower,

And seek to hide my tortured soul from thee,

Bowing my head in deep humility

Before the silent thunder of thy power.

Sometimes I flee before thy blazing light,

As from the specter of pursuing death;

Intimidated lest thy mighty breath,

Windways, will sweep me into utter night.

For oh, I fear they will be swallowed up—

The loves which are to me of vital worth,

My passion and my pleasure in the earth—

And lost forever in thy magic cup!

I fear, I fear my truly human heart

Will perish on the altar-stone of art!

Like light but
in reverse we billow.

We turn a corner
and make the hills
disappear.

You rearrange
my parts until no
more hurting.

No more skin-sunk
nighttime fear.

No more blameless death.

My hair loses its atoms.
My body glows
in the dark.

Planets are smashed
into oblivion,
stripped of their power
to name things.

Our love fills the air.

Our love eats
the deadly sounds men
make when they see
how much magic
we have away
from them.