I propose that today, we paint in the rain
I see the nails in your hands and understand
The astonishing gray of the sea now resembles
This hole in the sky.
Again we put more hope in the trees and
Plant a Paris without circumstance
A chance to explain and
be masters of poverty-
To regard the flowers with jealousy
I struggle for lives life like that
It cannot contain all the tones of the heart.
The progress of light now broken
Night belongs sooner in intentions than in
These false deeds of illumination
The landscape tries vainly to remember the sun.
November 4, 2009
From Van Gogh’s letters
City of Holy Faith
Days of silence
days of storms, lightning, wind and rain
Now my own voice is strange to me
Now life cracks open and rises around me
Now even the clouds and sky wrap themselves around me
I drown in this desert sea.
The dead are with us, here.
We carry them in our pockets, here
as if they were the currency of
We carry them in our pockets along
with the sand and rocks and the bits
of teeth and fur and bone scraped from the land.
Here, dreaming is easy, though,
Beauty and death become the same.
Serpents and dogs practice these rituals
over and over, just as it was
at the beginning of time.
June 8, 2016