Tishinnah (No.1 in C Series)

I came by
an unlikely angel
beyond your knives and engines of occlusion.

I'll not stay long.
I am bleeding and past the
efficacy of incantations.
But here, see the shine.
It is the vanishing, the echo of deer,
the infinite concussion of thunder,
it is all that can be given for an eternity.


there are the echoes of deer
the golds and blacks of
fading light
the sound of leaves

by the lake are the
comforts of dreams

rest here a while
sweet Phoebus
and with your bow
pull back the quiet note of descent
and with your lyre
softly pierce the sky

for all my wants lie here
in smiling confusion
in silent harmony

and I am sleeping
forever in your arms


turning to you, my love
seeing the history of inexplicability,
knowing that no potions or powders
can save me from your fate.

each night we fight for resurrection,
with arched backs
insisting in momentary eclipses
the innocent imperative.

My love,
whisper sweet nothings in my ear.


we all crave significances those
poetic vignettes curved through
senses, curved through silence

through membrane and
broken stone.

such sanctity, mother,
as in a kiss.

Oh sing, my heart,
Of invention.


I know your back is burning
your legs might break
I have seen the letter in my dreams

you might cough up your heart
you might stare at your eyes
I saw you running, your child in a bundle

Russian prince and glory
a tremendous Sun
I saw Imperial armies on every green field

I know your back is burning
your legs might break
I have seen the letter in my dreams

Kfar Hahoresh

Mystics and performers of magic
have touched me in my sleep
like mists they were here with gifts
of roses and gold

the tears I shed were precious dusts
and stars
the fullness of our hearts

Siobahn Davis

sucking up the air
like it would save her
placing strength after strength
she dances the side of it, high up
measuring the width of time
with crucifixions
head first and pulling,
bound by the noise of contingency


and in that kiss of words
was born of darkness
wild dreams of creation
the incarnation of innocence


the dead and absent
excuse your unlove
and flare like quiet angels
in the yearning place
of your desire

deny that it is possible
gird with strands of black ivy
and straps of bronze
say that you are unsure
say that you must
and must not…

Your ghost

only no-one gets saved this time round
and I can't help but let you grasp me
until my hatred makes you bleed

I lost when I saw the face of God
(it is true that no-one lives who sees the face of God)

I will be your ghost
I will be your black feathers


whispered fragments
none potent enough alone
to enchant

and hands weave silences

rise up death's dreams
wonder fill this room
with darks' compression.


they too have their spears and rattles
dark woods
hidden as other things
leather strips and iron glass
ropes that hold
the black faces

Being Here (1980)

Don't cry
Nature's innocence with words
We are
Hope only for love
Which is highest recognition and humility
Of Being Here