1.
The water follows a knight in armour
her wet
from all things
rises
psyche
& according to that law
only movement can know
one moves with her.
If it carries any water
we’ve been saying it all along
o muse
I fail as far as I can
truer than opinion rhetoric of this.
Reach of her. They call it arm.
Night’s shadow cast from the blood.
The drowned float toward their sun,
& a wet knight can see on the margin
of quest
his blood rise to her
Ondine
after such arrant undulations
as his order falls in love with the first
thing he sees
first of all seeing her love is.
2.
We’re all short in the rain
I said passing back what the
self-effacing mail-lady dropped
my side of the fence:
The Tall One
comes with such messages
for me, half awake, to blurt out.
Accidents happen close to home
they’ve percentaged that
and we know the impermissible
as such, likelihoods not truths
but the accident is sudden to overcome
as in eulogy, lingers interwoven
with life, I am accident
in morning
useful in readiness, I am here
my house is the early hours
& the dead come to hand, to help
the mail is from far as people are short.
3.
One tosses the fire
up, lob
dissipating with my hand an
imagination of the held
to be in the mystery of this
parted water that is the fire of
blood in its simple enough prophecy
moving before it
even itself,
incipient motion will is precise
follower of: I throw this
rose for you pelts me
in this back
move along now…
only the immediate
particular
in the florilegium
to be held against.
No other discrimination, no other
balance holds life. Though there are
others, she can pass through
but the one vessel (at a time),
a house of sorts, that
disappears
as you sit down
a vanishing geometry
you tumble down the stairs
at some new dictum of the path.
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