We Are Talking of Fever

Little light, little bird
let me tell you a story. Cup, by small cup
I’ll pour into you. Now open.
Now open your mouth.
Here is the way we begin
once there was a girl there’s always a girl
sometimes there’s a prince
but never two princess.
Now give me your throat
bend to the wolf
this is easier really
then telling the story
to open my mouth.
I want to be the wolf
but I am not. Neither am I the girl,
you’re always the girl
unless you’re the fever, red flush
coming over the field like fire.
I’m the cup. Here's the story.
A girl carries the bucket to the well
but there’s no bottom, the water
follows her like a line, a road
she must travel. The child
does not want this story.
She’s not the princess
hungry for blood, she wants more
of the wolf, more of the hunger,
her smooth canine, her white mother.
Where is the prince?
This is a story of two, the boy is not here.
The girls are adding on to each other.
One is the water.

Velveteen Revisted

Rabbit was real all along
he simply needed to undo the zipper.
The hunter came
said how do you like your supper?
But the rabbit didn’t stew
or stir, the rabbit
with his doll eyes
and boy love
the rabbit sang
with low cries like tiny knobs
as the hunter turned the dial.
The skin horse burned,
the radio blazed, nothing
touched the boy
and the song went on.

Here’s the golden
button, flame, fire
and hare. No one mentions
the wet hair, the smoke
from the end of his zipper.
Now boy this is love.
How do you like your supper?

In The Woods Trees Multiply With Shadows

Once I loved a man
Who said his only desire was to paint light.

I told him the rivers were red
Death comes to us

on the back of crows.
There’s no beauty in the way we fall.

He took his canvas to the street.

Love is a glass darkly.
or a darkly covered glass.

A hand held over the rim.
Hear that sound?

It makes no difference.
What you believe.

Light still falls. Name absence shadow.
Name the shadow man.

All the boys with brushes will hear you.
They’ll take to the trees.

Horse in Bronze # 134

Inside the wheel of an abdomen
the small colt rests
covered in copper shards.
The belly no longer a womb
but a ship, hollow and sound
traveling to this garden of sculpture.
Rest a hand here
put your tongue to the bolt—
no one is watching. No one
would guess there’s a miniature
replica of the mare rising
in the belly. Only you know
and ten thousands others
who’ve read the bottom
of the art history flyer.

Yet only you
take the bolt to the mouth.

Stop And Let Me Tell What The Lord Has Done For Me

He has given
The forked tongue
Curled spoon.
The place
At the end of the table.
Walked me on water, underground
Taught me the value of tunnels.
I've been saved, sold.
Sunken soul, raised roof.
Above all creatures most pitied.
Blest. Blasphemed. Burn at the snake,
Stake by the eyes of eve.
I've been called.
Heard voices: sandpipers,
Criers and angles.

Sea gulls

Swoop down between carts at Kmart,
eyes flashing.

Even in the rows of corn in Iowa
I’ve seen their white bodies rise like foam
from a green sea.

Don’t believe me.
It is only my truth
and it does not set you free.

A lover once said she bought her house
for this reason
because even twenty miles out

from the Atlantic, sea gulls found her door.

I knew nothing of corn then
I knew nothing of the way it rattles with white birds.

Answer the questions:
How far to travel for the taste of salt?
Do you carry the sea in your yellow beak?

I have two lovers
one is day, one night---
What do I call you then? Wind

moving the carts to their corral.
One is a silver bird. One has mated with a crow.