All humans are marvelous, themselves objects—


Move back and forth between them


Along crowded hallways, along



Brush hands



Don’t worry

            about silence


Continuous activity, all our fine blooms


Submerged, carried



Nurses, clipboards, flowers


Reality drunk on the scent






Like the asters, I bloom



My arguments are late, my summers



I’ll try something else—


Occupying the world in a way


That surprises, but also


Seems to come from opportunistic



Of blue and pink horses


Stubborn naiveté






Convenience, a terminal rose


Split open, is attractive, but proves


Nothing—I prefer you, fireweed:


Rose-purple, striking, apparently


Disturbed—but beauty—


None of its elements

                             has any sense


The beautiful astronomy


Can stop



          leaves me broken


Like the memory of you breaking


Your skin



Yet to abandon the image—


Would I be blinded

  by such






Somersault toward


The pale meadow


I mean, away

     from the ditch


Break from the musk mallow’s



Knowledge is intricate

                confidence, dishes



         on the lawn


Belief is the heart-shaped


Blade in the garden—






Presence is here


The point I want to make


Traverses the repetition

        of the theme—


Your touch was

                 a healing tonic


But aggressive—I prefer


Shade and mint, eggs, warm oats


Blue vervain’s

      dense flowers


Force us to remember


The blue-violet tone in lovers’ speech—


Movement that renews






I have failed in extending


This flow, this cascade


A dog’s coiled tongue, blueweed


Growing by the highway near

                  the turnoff

Bright yellow fiddlenecks, disturbed


I have lied, I have not


Been speaking, I have not


Been able, I have simply   


Talked as if there were

                     a domain


One could relate to by some sort


Of referential gasp—





Do you love me?


Largest hospital in the state


The campus stretches

                                          a year


It is no use, the past—


Make me alive







I shouldn’t be surprised


Short hours, all the objects



Styrofoam, coffee, electrodes, rent


Sky-blue teeth of chicory petals


Divinities in the

            waiting room, pay attention


Perhaps be cured


Build a flock of wood







Nightingales and frogs, enter the ward


Yellow star-thistle, settle invisible disputes


Ivory skeleton, deal with internalized hate


Neither science nor religion is fitting


Love, attractive centaur, follow me now


Into Oregon, Washington, California


Say again: here, alive


Not to designate, but to speak