Re-enchantment

the window that
looks out of me
says what now?

raindrop-minded.
that’s okay too.

this and that rain
drop, this and that
color, clearness itself.

here’s a day, green wet
redyellow wet day,
grayer than quiet. just

outside, pecking away,
the turkey doesn’t
know it’s wild.

this is new and delicious.

Stable

Was it a yellow-pine chipmunk
or a golden-mantled squirrel, floating
down there in the water, the tall white bucket
of water? The horse was still drinking, it was still
morning. The little thing must have drowned
moments ago, you said, and told me how usually
there’s a small wooden plank we keep in there
so they can climb out. We looked, became mirrors
of its calm stare—whiskered face, eyes fixed
in everlasting heed, fully
still, fully quenched.

it’s knowing that

it’s knowing that there could never be anything sexier than doing just what needs to be done just when it needs to be done and that most of the time it will be doing nothing at all

it’s lucy in the sky with mosquitoes

it’s the sounds of casual gun shots around the bend of this meadow and the soft wonderhowls of someone’s daughter around another

it’s joel’s larger, brotherly body around mine when I’m ecstatically cold

it’s the tao of christ

it’s plain saying
but it takes so long o lord

it’s when the smartest most exquisite dirty dance music becomes the hollowed husk left behind by the dragonfly in the july morning

it’s actually asking for what I need
it’s giving it to you good

it’s asking the man on his way out what he thinks about the whole scene
and it’s him telling you that all the streams end up humbled into the ocean because it’s lower than they are

it’s carrying the light

it’s voguing to myself in circles around this fire under the yellow crescent lune with thom in the headphones singing how come I end up where I started how come I end up where I belong and then throwing the headphones off into the many-possibled sky it’s

abundantly clear

it’s what robbie meant when he said gone
are the early stages

it’s learning to unlearn

it’s already knowing that I’m inside of love with you because you’ve come to know yourself and we know it’s the same thing

it’s the yellowwhite gestures of the meadow in the daisies and nothing
else

it’s how you are
it’s how you hum at dusk

it’s the gift of the wound

it’s these brittled, pixelated, mellow-red wood chips from a fallen tree in my cupped hands like jackpot coins of plenty

it’s knowing that the elephant in the room is none other than—

it’s all the good fights I should have picked with you, robbing us of the sweet intimacy of conflict it’s

none other than love

it’s unsecretly, unhurriedly becoming my father, my mother
it’s getting away with it

it’s for the sake of synthesis
of cross-pollination

it’s knowing that the escorting of the sweet alien honeybee from the tent isn’t, isn’t, isn’t to keep her out, but to keep her wild

it’s lookaftering

it’s knowing that you’re here too
and how that could change everything

it’s lying skin-grass in the mute afternoon letting the ants know me

it’s the dried character of the wood you gather and in it the engraved longing of the wind surfing on itself before tossing it into the fire

it’s my pretentious (throw it)
shallow (onto the fire) peace

it’s gathering your latest attachments (this too) to be burned (this too)
to remember that what’s real doesn’t

die, and remembering
and humming at dusk

it’s the oregon plainness
this just-enough desert

it’s what rainer and walt and edward estlin meant

it’s what I wanted all along

you’re here too

dearest forager find
in the bright pales of the very

husk of it, holding
(tall grass) held

(light wind) folded (gasp
wet) felt the very

now before
your very heart

nov.

sun grey up
colors extra
voiced subject
to change let’s
notice

pine, as a verb

as a wanting to need
as a tall mumble, a transmission
tended to

tentative, coastal
surrenderclear

islet

to toss
                        until the island 

into you
words 

                        of us

like sand
into the water

                        becomes
                        continent

it’s perennial

to a room in my house I opened
the door asked (plume)
who you were you
got who I was we (daylily)
opened the (lilac) windows
the tall (camellia) summer
windows we saw then
our garden (marigold why)
for the first time (not)
for the first time
(yeah)

wildflowers of oregon

prairie mallow, from april on,
checkerbloom. yarrow,
lupine, the stuff of meadows,

sidewalks, summer things wild
openings, a western tiger swallowtail’s
flutter. see yellow, pales noble

in the green, see sundried
violet, honeywhite o

with scent the grass carries
light, exhales swing

low sweet
the jasmine air I was
there

coast walk

sweet sediment, rockaway

low tide jasper, somewhere
shore obsidian

a sunday coast
an oregon jade wet
agates

sand footed, a sunday.

the wood’s petrified,
I’m petrified—

dunes, tall green the pastel
grass fragrant it’s
windy.

so what she
picks up a stone
of interest

now?

anything I said
tossing another
whose magic had dried

we want