it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
That gold twilight of eschaton
Among clouds of uncertain rains
We hear the quiet music's strains
Hold fast the way of everlong.



it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
More silent than a calling moon
This storm is making a distant song
Rumble and bell-ring echo long
And air gray with rain at noon.


The Nightlife

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
Come alive with the evening-time
The fireflies pulse beyond my sight
Erratic like the city in the coming night
Summer's spirit borne aloft on rhyme.


Ground Yourself

it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
The Great Time comes and we fear
As we sense a lightning strike
Each hair stands as a railroad spike
Hold on to something strong and near.


Beyond the Door

it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
In the glass of the window of the gates
The light and dust make the pattern deep
Is but a handle turn all that may keep
Us from the time that outside -- awaits?



it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
Clever, getting ahead of the game
Is man, but each unfolding leaf
By now must beggar unbelief
For the fruit grown is still the same.


Escape Hatch

it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
There is a grief unwritten, we find
Among these, letters long and short
To our age, never a true retort
Thus we leave, time out of mind.


The Song at the Garden Wall

it is addressed thusly:
A song.
it reads:
I have seen much of the natural light
At times witnessed birds in autumnal flight
Their great host, as though in the north
Hades had its souls all spewed forth
Or against the sky's changing rays
Many at once gave up their days
And flew full course into the arms of God
A stream the workaday would call odd
If they saw it, or would deign to recall
And condescend to my earthy mind at all
Rake, rake, rake, in the soft loam dirt
A pleasure too human for a word so curt
To plant and dig is a tiresome chore
Like man's spirit, in a silent war
So the bowstring must have its slack
Here it finds rest in the slow attack
The turned up dirt shows warm and dark
Manure and mulch in furrowed mark
And in Sunday we may have our rest
In garden dirt, such patterns best
Describe the contemplative soul
Evoke the cup that is overfull
In its twofold of gaze and sight
Its two arms for wrong and right
Redundant all for mercy's sake
And all this time, the moving rake
Makes me think such radical thought
To square the circle of is and ought
Or perhaps my blood must boil in rage
The Saxon within cannot outstage
The Modern made aboriginal
But for a minute both feel the call
And in the sky the clouds catch fire
Rose-bright linings like filament wire
If to see beyond this city here
If for a moment, vision is clear
And the blue and red and green and gold
Are something many-chambered and old
But disappear as a waking dream
And like the souls' unrelenting stream
Speak in figures of what shall be
Not late but soon, and suddenly.


The Midsummer Night's Dream

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
On the eve of war, in the calm night
Do we see more in the last twilight
Than we saw before, each moving cloud
Drives quickly west, chasing the dying sun
Will we now rest, or has it begun
The fireflies list, the silence is loud
They dance, sun-kissed, to another song
We remember again what we knew all along
The fire rages then, in a distant town
Is it only there, or does the sun also set
On Franklin's chair, into inkblack and yet
A nigh-invisible sight, vying for the crown
The hosts of the night make final sobornost
Blink, blink, blink, blink, tallying the cost
With the blue light sink the last of the Sidhe
And dark prevails, but for the unreal city
The fireflies the tears of the sun's own pity
But the purple sears falsehood into all we see
Which is not far, for what good is foresight
On the eve of war, in the calm night?


The Inevitable American

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
The inevitable American, did we forget
What he can, has he yet
Found his home in the world at large
When its gone, that house of cards
A land is either a people or a law
We are neither, as many saw
For the only rules we have we ignore
Even our schools seem to abhor
That liberty which is our only truth
Dark as pitch they stain the youth
And forget that law has no respect of men
Ask then not how -- just ask when.



it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
Edelweiss, do you rise
From the foaming sea that lies
Roiling about us, tempting fear
Ominous, for all that's dear
And true, is this our only way
The blue embrace, forget the day
Forget the ark, and the pages bright
With each mark a dearer fright
Who wrote them, our mystery
We recall again, it cannot be
Our own hand carved them clean
Each letter grand, each figure mean
And we walk along that pier
White as chalk, the sky is clear
And the pages pulled all prophesy
But we are lulled, and do not buy
Out of order we pulled them out
It cannot be, the mind does rout
But the spirit moves just as it lists
Lines like grooves, words like fists
A fall of sheets; the afternoon
The story completes, so very soon
The sea below, the dream will fade
The ciaroscuro, now blankly made
What was it again, the reprise?
Edelweiss, do you rise?


Chain Lightning

it is addressed thusly:
A vision.
it reads:
The coming storm, the roaring rains
Lonely, darkly as the stains
Does anyone now watch the sky
Or is the air become too thick
Column upon column wick
Up, up round the fulsome eye
These towers of shadow and dust
These winds of change, each gust
Firefly, do you ride this night
In the darksome, choking shade
The blind in which dreams are made
And broken, in a blinding light
What is that smoke across the shore
What are these fires all the more
In a blink we see you move anew
Again, again, does lightning strike
Twice and three, or just a spike
A change of climate, as it grew
To crescendo, to cadenza aloud
Enough to shatter each cloud
Does the deep glow a sickly blue
Is it that Wormwood at last set down
While all in Styx, forget and drown
Green becomes their sickly hue
Lit against the lightning's chains
In the coming storm, the roaring rains.


The World Begins to Crack

it is addressed thusly:
A vision.
it reads:
The world begins to crack
Each line running runs black
As though a drawn pencil line
Of how a tragedy would look
Penned and inked in a comic book
But everything will be fine
For those not standing under
A falling stone; a mere blunder
Or a structure with no base
Everything that is truly great
All elements must participate
But we wonder in this case
If Babel was not more sound
More moored to the ground?
But it is the map in this story
In which the people live
In their mind, a great if
And an imaginary glory
Where no moral imagination
Is, each abandoned his station
Lives, as quite someone else
And then wonders where he is
Not found by look or kiss
Not existence nor his self
Judas his Christ does lack
The world begins to crack.



it is addressed thusly:
A vision
it reads:
Into the darkness, the prince goes
Still silhouetted as from behind
Brief turning head, vanishing nose
Black shrouding deep face lines
Othello, more shadow than man
Does his mask come well loved
This time perhaps half-wan
From the theater, well gloved
We're pressed out, and know not
Iago to have shown his face
The strangler will yet be caught
But will the deceiver without a trace
Go, and the moor so willingly
Deceived? Is he to be believed
For if so then we must see
More than the now-bereaved
That cur, the pale murderer
But the ruler descends to dark
For here white and black concur
And the knife will find its mark.



it is addressed thusly:
An ode
it reads:
On the quietness of a Sunday
In the midst of the month of May
Came both softly and steadily
Someone about as small as can be;
Daughter first, and sister, yes
Of polite firmness the best
Even this-wise from the womb
When they came to the tomb
Bearing myrrh, three were Mary
And so as well, was she.


The State

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
All men were sure it would carry on
That it was the shape of things
So great it was in its coming
Could it be long? Could it be long
Before the sound of many wings
And like unto those it sent running
In just a breath, it was gone.