skinnd turn, what will

be the wrack

of all the old—

who

cares.

CRYING

all these passt,

losst,

years.

“It always changes”

wind child

wound child

MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS

live oak and madrone.

FOR JOHN CHAPPELL

Over the Arafura sea, the China sea,

Coral sea, Pacific

chains of volcanoes in the dark—

you in Sydney where it’s summer;

I imagine that last ride outward

late at night.

stiff new gears—tight new engine

up some highway I have never seen

too fast—too fast—

like I said at Tango

when you went down twice on gravel—

Did you have a chance to think

o shit I’ve fucked it now

instant crash and flight and sudden death—

Malaya, Indonesia

Taiwan, the Philippines, Okinawa

families sleeping—reaching—

humans by the millions

world of breathing flesh.

me in Kyoto. You in Australia

wasted in the night.

black beard, mad laugh, and sadly serious brow.

earth lover; shaper and maker.

potter, cooker,

now be clay in the ground.

1964

HOW MANY TIMES

We walk down streets together

switching hip globes

clean skin, neat smell,

why these clothes.

breast, the bra,       stitch & buckle—soft—

(sweaty farm girl on the road to

Yasé       sold me bunch of daikon

nipples brushing bare along

the blue work-jacket seam—)

above the bottom part the hose is browner

held by funny things.

bulge of thigh—softest skin of all—

now       am I all right? ah.

presst down,       open,

were I       as open,

we shall do this

how

many times.

TASTING THE SNOW

The family—the little family—

table edge and napkin wipe

the warm       you hold in your arms

children, saliva, washt clothes

Hand-holds and curves of the palm,

all that

Good

fuss—trust—love—and I

know not—

Falls away from me now.

Like the two tears from your eyes.

life and hope had fed, and fed,

on such,

and my pace slacknd.

Out the door:

Icy and clear in the dark.

once I had thought,

laughing and kissing,

how cosy to be tuckt in bed—

let them sleep;

Now I can turn to the hunt.

Blade sharp and hair on end

over the boulders

eager

tasting the snow.

GO ROUND

Plunging donkey       puberty devi

flings her thighs, swinging long

legs backward on her mount

hair tosst

gangle arms but eyes

her eyes and smile are elsewhere:

swelling out and sailing to the future

off beyond five-colord clouds.

we enter this world trailing

slippery clouds of guts

incense of our flowery flesh

blossoms;    crusht;    re-turning

knots of rose meat open out to—over—

five-hued clouds—

the empty diamond of all space

And into withered, sturdy, body, stalks.

the dry branch dropping seeds.

plunging donkey

prancing horse and trappings

her mother watching,

shopping bag let down

beside her knees, against the bench,

in her eyes too the daughter

whirling

looking outward, knowing,

having once

steppt up on the

merry-go-

Round.

[After Rāmprasād Sen]

Arms shielding my face

Knees drawn up

Falling through flicker

Of womb after womb,