to the river\'s end
dust-bowl and hidden foul a soft retreat.
no grain of time to wrap one finger-length,
still shapes two servant\'s more on bended knoll;
when here is all but nothing left on edge,
masters wind and silence through a gift of jaw,
cloud-raw as white as flesh.
chanting flock\'s of caged birds
to blow away the dead-worm-bait,
hook to love to lips the hanging kiss,
once skull of man now horoscope
a needle to the stars in a heavens cell,
calm unrest with beast of rocks
that grope and swell all inches of the sun;
to the world that cannot die,
that cannot screen it\'s eyes from given death.
in this beginning came the lover\'s sleep.
dreaming scars but ripples in a cold night air.
forget-me-not for sinners unforgiven plague,
vengence comes as air to hill,
to spill it\'s might on the idle bone
buried bald with healing hand and cherry composite;
to the world of ends;
the sleeping eyes burning bright it\'s tears,
older than the brave man\'s ears
running straight this bending year,
to the spine that floats to the rivers end;
the curse of Spring.
in time to ask of who, of why; of when;