November 2007

The light here leaves you
lonely, fading

as does the dusk
that takes too long

to arrive. By morning
the mountain moving

a bit closer to the sun.

This valley belongs
to no one—

except birds who name
themselves by their songs

in the dawn.
What good

are wishes, if they aren't
used up

The...

Things are not
unmoving (or else what   

is ing there for?)
The things once-living   

fall on the never-living   
all the more movingly for the eye

that passes over them.
The wind wells up

to spill a trail
of onces...

In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread:
you put this rather beautifully,
and gave me leave to sing my work
until my work became the song.

In sorrow shalt thou eat of it:
a line on...