the vial of all beginnings

Past the brittle reed of wonder past the unwrit 
unspelt large of words lies the worn underness 
of warm things     the vial of all beginnings scratches 
dawn and you wake as the snake does to its withered 
skin    if you float a lie on a river will it flow as readily 
as one that made its way to heaven, reborn as scripture?

v word ekes

i - the most beauteous of rots
           clasps the yellow roots of sun
      
ii -  in the absence of song, should the 
	   syllables falter, there is dirge

iii - in the absence of humor, fear 
           follicles thread a dearness 

iv - not since morning sought knife 
           did the word begin to cut water

v - what the grasp of heaven misses
           earth catches as wish & loam -

What remains

I could dust off the rain’s remains but
        there is just too much that resounds
        I could feel the knotted night and

Seep it of its wounds but there is just 
        too much that reminds I could trip
        the river’s run as it feels its way

Over rock but there is just too much rock
        Somehow song goes away just when
        you want it to sing overwhelmed by

All that remains -