Tuesday, June 17, 2008


for M.H.

Focus, follower, your hand on the ache
where the it of your eye fell, riddled

as arrows back to their archers
shaft, even glutted by a graze;

this fallow loss is my fall,
will bear your face in my blank

overwhelmed, as only pain can
fellow itself--- barren.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008


to M.H.

A flower, or face, orphic, for my oxygen
exhaled from exile:

may song suffer her echo, knelled against
supplicant’s throat, an altered prayer---

may oxeyes follow her back in mourning
knowing herself their knoll.