The Smoke of Distant Fires

[1]

i wonder where the title the smoke of distant fires comes from

i heard it in a park once at the back of my creeping devoted

ear the moon was red the forest as always abloom with

heliotropes and blue begonias yes i heard it in a park once

a dog was barking the moon was red the sun had already set

[2]

eyeing my steps she’d say good but with less emphasis

the words stank to high heaven the serpent was singing sweetly

careful she told me it’s a monstrosity a misshapen beast

years ago i placed a leaf from a linden tree on his back

which left only a scratch a mere flesh wound where time

records its march where the mangled falcon sleeps the blood

on kriemhild’s breasts recalling the blood on kriemhild’s

breasts her death at the hands of some hunter of wild

boars the serpent was dancing the moon was red the

hero didn’t seem to notice i have lost the pot of gold

he said i don’t know who could have stolen it from me

[3]

the trees let go of their branches allowing them to fall

it was spring and they couldn’t bear the weight of the snow

the sun shone darkly deer came down from the hills

rats fled the swamp and everything before me was allegory

yet i didn’t write a word

[4]

who is eyeing my steps? who is dictating me words?

who is telling me now is the time? i don’t know

who is eyeing my steps who is dictating me words who

is telling me now is the time

[5]

i’m with my parents in melbourne this has to be a dream

i’ve never been to melbourne my parents look at a plate of

food with no interest one way or the other i feel uncomfortable

at times that’s how i remember you i can never get past

your eyes i don’t have any eyes ask siegfried ask the serpent

ask him what’s become of your words of the papers you

tossed in the wastebasket of the much hoped-for rain in the linden

tree forest i’m talking about hell about charon’s coins

about the barking dog the one that won’t let us sleep

[6]

we’re not in melbourne and this is no dream truth

to tell i don’t know where we are i see a park nearby hear

some music the rustling of leaves we’re alone tonight

you’re like a tiger i love your fear the streak of light rending

your shadow the solar mantle where beauty burns forget

the flesh for a moment forget about beauty for now you’re

with me tonight why is the moon so red she asks

[7]

it isn’t night and we aren’t in park we’re in thebais

at either the beginning or the end of a storm it’s like a line

you know by heart memory can be so cruel preserving

a marble column a red desert and nothing else around them

but rocks spiders scorpions a pious crowd and a rabbit

why a pious crowd she asks why a rabbit i must have read

about them in a poem seen them in a medieval painting or some

movie short perhaps praying high in the air i grasped the serpent

and if a cloud brushed my ears i gave god thanks for it was his hand

he ordered me to read but no one had ever taught me how

[8]

you must be simeon then she said pointing out my sandals

my lack of social graces my eyes brimming over with desert

[9]

she listens to the rustling of the leaves to the whistling of the wind

tell me we’ve always been here tell me you never went away

read me the part about the hero’s betrayal the dream of the eagle

devouring the falcon tell me it’s nighttime our neighbors wave

at us with no interest one way or the other the birds pick apart

their nests

on the riverbank a dog barks a dog that won’t let us sleep

[10]

water and mud common ground sketch their alphabet the metaphor

is burning i see it shrivel to nothing amid the rubble we don’t

need to write don’t need to read tonight the serpent

is very excited for it’s celebrating a birth as the words rot

and the moon shines a charon’s palm what should i do?

hold on to it she says write the smoke of distant fires