How it will come to you, this joy
that rides in on pain and breathes
your inspiration. The one who
dwelled beside stands at the gate
waiting for another shining passerby.
In the tree, a conspiration of birds
abides this green nature. You had
forgotten how performance
isolates. But in this only moment
now, such surfeit, such grace.
In the long night, something breaks
clean, but not from all that fretting
nor from tiring, nor from resolution.
Suddenly, the way is cleared:
something wide and deep opens
and you are in it, there you are.
something like
our former grace
our former spin our
former face
latterly a beggar’s bag
our sky a boat our
heart a rag
our politics our
droning head
granny in
the iron bed
all our little bombs
and toast
lost library
receding coast
things that just happen
things that don’t
things done despite
the things we won’t
our spouse
our spawn our
racked life
our desert lawn
things we lock down
things filled up
what we abandon
with our luck
our jail mail our
punishing debt
our shaking house
and our lost pets
our love, our lot
our let
Accidental Antenna 