i.
 
too many promises kept--
  that there be no images to idolize 
  but the feminine
    be it roe from the gut of a sunfish
    be it smoke rising exhausted
      in curls of angel hair 
  that i write my own sutra
  that i live my own psalm
    warmth sung of
      tho i remain cold
  that i fail
    as do the batteries of stars
    as does the protean wall of night
    as do the cilia of every reaching root
      and crystal upon every hoary leaf
        in order to be accurate
        in my assessment
          of the truth of things
  that i lie
    politely
    politically
      and poetically
      without reprise
 
                       --a drop of wine
                in a tumbler of tequila
                 blood for the spirit
                              a toast
              proportions inversed.
 
 
ii.
 
i'd speak more
if i had anything to say
worth listening to
if my whispers
would not themselves break
the dawn
 
    i'd strike the above
    with all the cupidity
    of a poisoned arrow
    were my mind not made in echo
    of a lightning bolt
    upon the gathered serenity
    of your eyes
 
        and i'd burn the above
        but to hell with hell
        my words are swords
        reduced to scalpels
        of those sins
        those cancers
        of both war and peace
        and your eyes are balm.
 
 
iii.
 
should you age early
mature slow
tulips roses
shallow burials
bright graves
  
        wrong
 
tulips roses apple grape oak
bone
 
        but mostly
 
skin fire-lit
by mind upon same.
 
 
iv.
 
stealing kisses
from the ground--
snow upon brow.
 
 
v.
 
love you
all of.