Ant song

I met Revolution again the other day recalling how a younger me was 
          smitten by her fire & song      so now are you the peacock or the

Mountain? neither, she said, I am the dust that settled on the monkey's
          breath after your wars      will you then sear through our dreams as

Violet-green clouds of remembrance?   only the monkey's breath knows
          when your blanched sword melds with the colors of a million ants -  

sun-memory

sun draws not a single breach of song     carries over
       lucid breath of trunk & color      inches forth the
       grip of vapor, move of word, strum of earth -

sun forgets what it shone over      carrier of branch &
        home, humor & moan       inching away from 
        caliper & scale, it remembers mostly mirth -

Counting problem

It's a counting problem -  ones turning into other ones,
                                             the count depending not on the leopard's spots but how
                                             they roll off her back teaching clouds how to fold song into
                                             rain

---

The transformation of a dual world into a binary world is the transformation of the world of two and of many inequalities but complete into a world of one and deficiency. If duality is one of the variants of the multiple, binarism is the world of the one, of the grid and universal referent.

– Rita Laura Segato

the rain that gave you words

could you tell which rain it was that gave you words: was it
       the one which knew the ground was as certain as the gash
       of sky from which it fell, or the one tied to the shadow of
       an older rain, or the ground itself turned sorrow turned
rain?

math-bird song

and if the bird knew how to solve differential equations would
        she hurry up & build
        funeraries, motelsarais, warehousings,

or would she find ways to link flower with stone, leafred
        with riverbed & heartsink
        with lamentories, joylings, trepids?

                                       

Indus/Indios

I as earth     singular as plural
                      river
                      indigenous

semblance of a poem

there is a semblance of a poem at the heart
          of where it calls out to new voices
          some of which are 

known to poems of old     the semblance 
         too is known but hides in fear of
         knowing too much
 

color song

white as the perspired block, black
           as tame spiders, red as the
           withered leaf on mooncall,
brown as daybreak tending rivers -

tethered night

to think the night kind is to believe in
      song    say it is kind, but not so loud

in an other song, you can hear it think
      but not as loud    it is kind, this night

with lost dream and lost language    bereft 
       song, lost to kindness and dream -

---

night with its many deaths is a song
       read with the eye of a pen dipped

in unfettered ink  with a hunger leavened
       and fit to taste - remnants of what

I knew but longed to dislodge from
       arid haunts & inarticulate wounds -

---

if the tethering of night to stillness
        were a given, I could believe in

riversand enough to conjure up the
        absence of sky - if imaginings 

of the tether were to roam skysand
        I could believe again in riversong -

the moth of beginnings

the castle, most watered down, shrieks -
          its bottom spared the moth of 
          beginnings, it hums an ancient
bawl

the river, riven in its gutted wear, bends -
          its weave turned in to speak of
          beginnings, it gnaws an ancient
crawl