Opera Logic

In opera, wars end
In strolls among flowers,
Coruscating country folk--
Strife flees a jolly
Polka, jokes upon passion, power.
In opera, wars end; hagiarchy
Bends to lovers'
Tears, children praying.
In opera-- fears, betrayal,
Insurrection-- whispers
Snag upon gardens
Over reunion, pardon.
Voices blend --in opera
Wars end.

Athanor

A towering oven,
Rarefying entropy,
Elutriates what is
Tame in me, or is it
Tumbled walls,
A castle gate open
Onto wild sea?
Sometimes I discern
The heart of it, this
Alchemy of objects,
Shadows, love
Racing among old trees,
Mounded roses, ablaze
Where lightning stung.
I go where it goes while
The storm is young.

Perfume Leaving The Opera

Stairway apparatus,
Enfleurage, fat and flowers
From which alcohol
Dissolves other days,
Words sublime and absurd,
Song and the feel of sound.
Even a long grind of wheels
Against the curb obtains
A tincture, refined
After music, laughter
By a better mind.

West Coast Halloween

Differences recede in tules--
Black branch? Leaping dog?
Fish swim past in opalescent fog.
Doors slam muffled, it begins.
The delta begs to be let in.
Ocean sends its sunken ships,
On mist, inland, silent.
Silence --so loud--breaks
On earthbound clouds.
I whistle above voids unseen
And my skeleton, dragging weeds,
Returns, climbs back into me.
Sometimes all things, even bones,
Need out to play alone.

Rain And Time

Rain!
Yard smells like a spice cupboard.
Where was rain when
Bruno burned
Between worlds?
A name, a year.
Rain with calm in it.
I can't douse the flame from here,
Change even to odd
In an infinite set
Or believe in half a god,
Yet, under rain, where all things
Are grown, I do
Without heteronomy.
Unknown won't burn;
It is free.


--Giordano Bruno [Infinite Worlds Theory], burnt by Spanish Inquisition, 1600--

Untitled

Life selects
Certain molecules.
Even in this thought
A trail of atoms
Disrupted changes
The past.

Secret De Polichinelle

I go with you
Because some things
Are good to do--
Subscribe in dreams to
The coincidence
Of general advantage
And ages still to come.
The sum of it is
Not increased by
Permission, or
By decision divided in
Any way I know.
You simply hope
And hope is
Where you go.
And the wine is good,
The day fine.
We talk, knowing years
Away we'll remember
Where we stood.
We laugh.
I'll pay half.
That too is
Good, eh?