from Windows
 

In my head there are several windows, that I do know, but perhaps
it is always the same one, open variously on the parading universe…

Samuel Beckett

 

    VII

 

i remember the expanses between winter

the cyclic shifts         the lying
amongst sand dunes & flax fields        i remember

the albums lined up on shelves         my parents love-talk
dissipating into clouds of musical particles

this exposure complicates         it complicates
solutions of immediacy
it complicates love amongst the ruins

the clarity of why a man in the city should be different

from a man in the country         of why i accept the language
of a landscape singing
& this crowded episode on a narrow path

made difficult         by people         more people
why i’ve become the heart of a stranger in my parents’ home

 
 

    IX

 

concrete-plated         the city
scratches its spine         the horns

of hills react

birds         some endangered

some clinging to the night
are lost
to the listening universe
to satellite farms

but others flock & pulse
like musical reeds of light

i water the strawberries
even though there are no strawberries

even though there are no red feathers
left growing on the trees