ESTUARY

ESTUARY

Let the servants show you

your nemesis’ cabbage patch

cover them with seamen 

so he will be judged

and the judge be your son

seed logic, the story’s tendrils

joke along a little boat,

between the banks, the backs

a spine conjoins in water

white flux, white fox

peeping above the mind’s hands

her fluid license

sky sky desires

blank hands pull up

at our clothes you can feel

the desire from which things

contract, reach to reclaim you

but can only make more, fall

tragic tetractys

raspberry jam

on His fingers

ordo cisterciensis

the flash of sight

stretched

through which sound

becomes stone

the snowfall through which

the cathedral walks forward

enter into these bones

eat the moon

milk of amnesia

eat the edges off

seed-spine cycles back

into brain-sea, Typhon

hunting boars at night

stumbles over the body

of Osiris chops it up

dissipates the Nile

into the reservoir of mind

the red haired Neanderthal

mystery of the genome

spread the quiet doctrine

of the subconscious

into aeon’s aimless endless city

wide-smiling neolithic masks

that sidewinder through pointy buildings

Tamas dark slothful

whose yellow birds fly

impenetrable patterns through

the soft pink stuff of language

to eat the berries

around the altar

squeezing past my sternum

everyone can eat the moon

big berry two hands

to three mouthes

the count goes down

and arc sent out

through our animal sea

a white fox that hides

as the moon divides

one after another, count

until I’ve said everything

an audible horizon glimpsed

through the lumbering stones

who guard my stray spark

my extra road

no pal, nothing extra

there’s a second voice

I show you where to go

the trees tug

from beyond their leaves

put on my clothes

and tell me what you hear

a fox caught on the hill

awake another

Chinese poet

wet in moonlight

inheritance of Percival

Celtic Noh

vanishing castle

of the page

dissolution but for this

tiny sin, shadow

come from beast-land

to regrow me

each step the

soul must take

reforming slowly

through the root

poor Moses

poor us same few

no choice but to play

every role

the movement of the universe is

actuated not by one soul, but

perhaps by several, and certainly not

less than two, the spine’s push

from its own sides, the boat

to keep wet

poles jabbed in cosmographic waste,

each ear listens to Beethoven

to grow a plant

to grow a mask

lure out your friend

rising milky white ahead

a bell to ring

a new moon

where priests shout on the banks

of the Nile,

Osiris swaddled

in their earthy hands

to return the eye of Horus

Typhon poked out or ate

variations for the dance’s 

sake unmoving

as water must be

its strange relief

lugged through

busy daylight

or devilry

jogging and kitchens

the elements at work

priests by the river

earth and water

an Osiris cookie

heaven and earth mud

the banks

unravel in time

a secondary river

the second voice in which

the first persists

Kabbalah of the weave

Templar Ogotemmeli

whatever it is making itself

obvious as rollerskates

dream-catcher of our

pale lunacy

light refracted through flesh

colors its clear pages,

geese crossing your hills

and nowhere yonder

every tree with its own moon

your next breath, white fox

the sight’s wife

informing itself

her eager priest

to baptize us

that might have been the salt

Mr. Rose took with him

to the chymmical wedding,

bread, salt, water,

hard to know what what means;

see who’s around

what they’re thinking

imagined affairs

interest, whatever

comes to mind,

the salt takes

one eyed hermit behind the dream

singleminded boat of a person

ushering you in

as the cool water slides past

each of me

the images drift

into the estuary

vile place, they call it, water

flow from a dead dog’s mouth

property of some other ocean,

your uncle Hades

family relations, sephiroth

the gates of the body

body shows us how to open

after all this practice

where images go

into the embrace

nameless long arms of things

warm and sturdy command

that understands me

me enough anyway

my poor vocabulary, your love

will let you go on

in whatever way not managing

manages like Bruno its finite figures

look at this picture

of Vishnu and Lakshmi

dressed in all the colors

I’ve colored with willy-nilly

colors are gods

pantheon of light

mother bent

through dark father-flesh

Bluebeard a sour taste in 

his mouth dashes through the

closet doors, hasty castle we are

trying to find the stairs

something to do with you

sweet step you’ve brought me

through my thousand rooms

to the heart of our city

where the hidden tower 
grows nimbler, more secure.