Clouds and Trees

"Nothing ever goes away enough or arrives enough,/ and I want to cry when I think of my heart,/ muscle pounding in muscle, greedy always for joy." – 'A Warning', Eric Anderson

Category: Garden of Eden

Town of Babel

In the town of Babel
we spoke in trees
and in the gleam of winter
sunlight crossing itself over
coats of ice,
the sound of cold
water running itself into icicles.

There is no garden to leave,
only a garden to be in.
No language to speak,
only something to speak of.

In the town of Babel
we spoke with the tongue of God,
in which there can be no metaphors,
and no need
to rewrite the perfect poem.


A Reflection on Writing and Existence

In the beginning
there was god.
God was everything.
He divided himself
into light and shadow
and air and water
and water and land
and so on and so on.

Some of the pieces could see the other pieces
and give them different names,
but they could not see god.

Some thought god was another piece,
because they could only see in pieces.

They created language,
and when they wrote
it was like dividing themselves
into more pieces of god
which looked like just pieces
but were really the whole.

So the writers themselves were like god
and also like their own writing.

This is the secret to the unhappiness of writers
who are constantly striving for something–
the perfect poem,
of which we are a piece
and which is a piece of us.

To recreate god–
to be god


My Daughter —

When you are born
something will be missing from me.

I will kiss you on your forehead,
watch your hair grow out in wisps,

and I will wonder what love is.

Our cat is very special to me.
My father knows me deeply.

But I am afraid
of strangers in my house;
of stones in my riverbed.

The Fall

It feels as if this
must be the season for writers


Color rips through the pale backdrop —
beauty inked into a blank page
A thin coat of paint over quiet fear —
the inevitable fade

Its name – The Fall —
says something about the first wilting
of The Garden
where Man is the leaves
each falling, in time, to the browning ground
where they will become The Earth
and they can’t resist glancing up
at the sky-lined tree branches
which, relative to them, will live forever