1.

Finches on the golf course

tell you about

last year’s snow.

2.

I tell my silent stories

anybody’s, listening to the stones

speak with no words.

Only the old can give gifts.

It’s the way they wrap them:

put your finger on the azimuth

and pull the planetary leashes.

3.

My long face stretches

through prairies and bus-stops

something done in the dark

night’s pulsing topology

the instantaneous manipulation

of time, Tetragrammaton of crickets

enervate to baffling powers

the moon is my slender mask

appearing everywhere

and in several places

I sit behind a great rock

a stolen book open in my lap, finger

on the diagram

by the light of this reflection.

4.

Sun & moon

in the same sentence.

Dew forms on my aigrette

in a world of quartz.

5.

To listen is to be born

organs enfeoffed

to the outer world, liverwort 

high-tide: the Doctor shows you a picture

pink squirrel on oak bough

the cures of 5th Ave., take a carriage into the wilderness

upper east side: what you see is what you will now be

he said, Baruch, John, but you were healed when you read my sign.