February 2017

walking up John Street
thinking of you

I saw a slash of sea
between houses

and felt — as always,
no matter mood,
its or mine — 

as though
it was the source
of language

and language
the source of itself

Tremendous orange things are happening somewhere.
I lay a wooden stick for stirring on the white note
on the desk. I lay a stain on the clean note.

Somewhere things are happening. Marvelous orange
and purple things. Flooding rivers at dusk, wheels threading
roads in...

It is a tragedy, yes, but a confusing one. What happened to the wrestlers and where have they gone? Loulou the Pomeranian would love to know. Outdoors the hills are buried in snow, but inside a rose, a rose full-blown,...