Navigate a painted world (to edit)

Start where you end
You're scattered through it
Trees are planted in all strokes
rooted nowhere
Walking means remembering what the world will look like when you see that you've arrived.
tying your shoes forever
having them tied
sleeping behind the house in the foreground
wait for the paint to wear away
paint yourself in the window...
carry paint to all roads
sign with footprints
sneak a brush under a pillow
in case change sneaks in at night
repaint the city, paint a day
canvas takes new layers
paint runs out
or dry
then you're stuck as you were

Daphne in the storm (unfinished)

The wind shakes thrushes from her  bosom. branches break. the river god reclaims his daughter limb by limb. rain drops like tears.
the archer's hunting other maids.
He'll top their hair with laurel wreaths, forgetting where he found the leaves.
he'll kiss them, too, as though they've won some race, then fly off,  and their green crowns will turn gold, and brittle in the wind.
he'll pass tomorrow, sun in tow, not looking down to see what's warmed, what's missed, what's burnt to sand.

The ghost of a tree stands pale
in a pile of leaves, dark on the ground,
its children burying one another, body over skeletal body.
Passing cars illuminate the massacre in flashes like lightning.
Sometimes drivers check their rearview mirrors, sure they saw someone they knew, still young as in their memory.

---------
---------
Sirens,
Fragments:

and fish were kissing their bones
and they swayed like weeds.

to hear them sing
but

We've been below to kiss them
join them but

their lips were kissing fish, and silent.
And our voices bubbled in the sea

We've kissed those lips
the fish have kissed
We've whispered, our voices bubbling in the sea
"we remember"

 see the drowned,

to praise our voices, as they fall.
how beautiful
as they dash against the cliffs

the fish who clean their bones ignore our voices:
bubbles in the sea.

who comprehend death
how beautiful they are

the drowned who heard us last, who now hear nothing.

Sirens

We've heard the sorrows
And the sufferings of men:

who venture far in their wood boats
which break on little things like
rocks, and time, and promises,

How beautiful they are!
Their bodies taut at oars,
on the rigging, nimble-footed
their eyes shining in the salt sun

How beautiful, with outstretched hands,
delicate-fingered, strong-grasping,
oh, beautiful,
even to us
they sing!

Our sister, giggling, dove below
 to kiss them

but, she said, her voice was only bubbles
and she could not find them in the dark.

Outside your door
I'll drink the rain
Eat minutes
Pet passing strays
Take nourishment in waiting
Til you say again
"come in"

"Saratoga."
I've never been there.

anything will do.

would it be any less banal
to talk of love?
"the weather there is cold"
"my heart beats faster"...
should we march against injustice
should we touch together in the night
should we speak of hours passed with television
try embracing? fear regret?
the weather is so cold
and could we talk a while, together?
could we meet, a dalliance,
an hour, a family, life, a decade, two,
could we speak of weather, always,
could we dance, not knowing the steps,
to next door's music?
this longing's like a magazine,
something to read by the fire while  the days grow...
if it was more, I've forgotten.
Anything will do.

same and same and same
the light of long gone, reflecting from the walls:
I snuck from bed to read, when sleep was unwelcome
as now, same,
and the carpet was like grass of the meadow
now it is hard wood,
but at night, I hear my pulse, when my ear is on the pillow,
same as same,
and it rushes by, with birds in it,
so I wake again, the same
and see Orion, same as same as same the belt and arrow
same the cold air
same over michigan beach, same over philadelphia houses,
stars same over grass with a she, pointing the stars
same alone, remembering, one kiss,
another, same
all same
so many same things, small same things, grasping
in the dark, to remember them
each, the same, an Each, each star and she,
and i, struggling against sleep, in the same dark,
i, small, as then, the same,
i wondering, the questions too the same,
how so long can be still to come,
how a night can be a year, the same,
all, waiting,
waiting.

c-

c is also for clown
here comes a clown!
see him dance
he is dancing.
Is he in a circus?
no.
The clown is not in a circus.
he is not a circus clown.
Is he a sad clown?
no.
he is smiling! and dancing.
A happy clown.
where is the clown?
where is he dancing?
now he dances in the cemetery.
why does the clown dance?
why does he dance?
because he is alive.
There is no circus for the clown.
The circus is in the cemetery.
The elephant is in the cemetery.
The ringmaster is in the cemetery.
Look at the clown dance.
Now he is drinking.
Funny clown.

A menu

Sugared nostalgia
Fatted hope
filet of possibility, regret glacé
Aspic, lost love

it lives in memory, briefly,
between one want and another want
 voice and hearing
  the thought to step, and the feeling of stepping:
the silence
or near silence, or distance from sound

Then: whitman's song is behind you
the words garbled like muttered sex

or television through a door

a thrum in which the sounds of voice
are found and lost
and doubted

standing, in that stillness, listening,
 one can see the black water
and how still it is.
 Imagine the depth of it
and the coolness

fish, bright at the surface, snatching at bugs,
throw off the light,

 return to dark places

because there is no way under the face of the waters
but into the waters,

because the dreams one has had
are tied to other words
and those words are faint

We'll build a better world
We'll build it blind
Perfection in our milky eyes
Like god's own work.

D

Pregnant letter...
She kept all my children as secrets
for some other man to share
Like a joke half told:
"why does love, who"?
A joke half told...
leaving an unmade bed still dry.
Kissing goodbye.
eating pomegranates alone.

A fucking mess, to edit later

thrushes nest in laurel never crying "daphne", "daphne"
the wind shakes them off
branches breaking in the storm
River god reclaiming leaves
her sun drenched
tear soaked skin
Thrushed fly to new shelters
Gods forget, move on, chase other maids
wreathe them like olympians with leaves
As though they've won
fly with the winds
And leave them with their prizes turning gold
Like brittle coins
faerie treasure
Crumbling in the wind,
withered economics of caprice
beauty without memory
The sighing dream, wet dried by morning
Why shouldn't they cheat, who've never regretted becoming a tree
Why shouldn't we let them
Who've never regretted envying
The stupid thrush, the careless fae,
The river...
Let them sell us charms of change
Or autumn gold or potions of youth
If we'll buy them with our last white cow