the receptive

the broad yellow back of the earth
a mare and her foals

daffodils
dancing on a hill

wither
and why?

the wind blowing
and no one knows where

a snow white anenome
on a hill

thanksgiving

a pure white sky
a clean whie frost
orange leaves

the white over the fields
like god

eraser

it is to keep a white eraser clean
and there is the struggle, all furious summer long

and thorns, bramble

against what? a black mechanical pencil with retractor
a compass, falling

a beige linen pencil case

saint peter's staff

it was gone, and the snow was gently falling outside
he was a man met through another, and the other was gone
sudden gaps appearing in households, and the household blown
the hecate's broom still stands and the other making
it burst into color and life, the bamboo greened
a small miracle in the making, purgatory in the making
and her hair was violet. there was a man in my bed
I worried about his life. he was the stick and the shard
why so soft? there are games of the saints I know nothing about

there are deaths
everyone dies in their time
they fall like ripe fruit
pipkins, persimmons what are they

up against the sky
a thorn bush full of starlings
someone glumly saying that's a year of your lifetime
or a whole one -- how to put it back

there is the face simply evil in the sun
no one sees the man in the sun anymore
the mischevious buddha has passed on

and all his appalling nature, all his splendour, all his might
he left two monographs, one was broken
he left christmas toys