Jan 25, 2007

 

 
 

The sky is blue as dirty ice
thawed and rethawed, going nowhere
over pavement. The heart is
a map of any part of this, a war
of unsteady states. The eyes are dice
well recast as blanket night,
where heaven humbles within mantles
of wind, within the refolded smoke
of the perfume of a lessening
of the stench of decay under a
simplicity of snow into the stem
and flow of plant and stone.
The sky, practically blue--
a roar I destroy with silence.