Three Dogs

Mud Puddle is perhaps the fastest,
Built for hills, and herds, and work.

But Thistledown is sweetest-tempered,
All fond fur and waving tail.

And Primrose is the most rag-taggle:
Startled ears and hopping gait.

I see them on an airy ridge
The wind is blowing through their coats.

I see them poised to gallop down
The deep green swale, the great wide lawns.

They'll be glad to see you come;
They're very good with welcomings.

Give them each a kiss from me,
And keep them company for now.

You'll do it, won't you? Just until
I join you, sometime, later on.

Another Admonition

Muster up the forces of invention
And make for me another little world,
The twin and image of the one we know.
Then step inside.

And then -- within this brief, imagined O --
Unfold the scenes we played when we were young.
But do you take my part, each piece of it.
Live in my skin.

Do this for me, and do it earnestly,
And then -- why then, when you have played your scene,
And made your curtsey, I'll be full of thanks.
Thanks, and farewells.

A Word

I see that you are fluid; I am hard.
And therefore I have kept each mark and scar.
Take care -- keep running -- tumble over rocks --
You'll begin to stink if you grow still.

Speak -- As You Would Write

Come.
Come with me
And let us burn these words.

We uttered them between us,
Did we not?
And therefore they are ours
To keep or kill.

Let us unmake them.
Let us drain their sense
And cast their empty skins
Into the wind.

And perhaps --
The spirit might then knit itself anew.

Miserere

It is the spot of grace
That I address,
The shiver of the angel
At your core,
The place
Where you are God --

Comfort me.

You see how scorched I am;
You see I burn
Without relief or rescue,
Without help.
Only
You can help me.

Give me ease.

Your gentleness must grieve
At this harsh blaze,
Your kindness wish to succor --
Rain on me.
Divine,
You carry peace

Within you --

Rain on me.

(Sitting Still)

The muse of fire is not admitted here.
Imaginary forces have no right
To prick their proud hooves on this tender place
And print impressions there.
This is sequestered space.

Nor dreams-that-come-from-Zeus, let them be light --
As insubstantial as the wind, as frail
As fleeing ghosts that slip across the gaze --
Here no intruding sight
Assaults the wash of greys,

The shadowed lavender, and, lichen-pale,
The creep of green across the hemming wall.
This plot belongs to Mnemosyne alone.
And here things past assail
The senses till they drown.

Except when Lady Mercy pays a call.
She drops in uninvited as the dawn
And scatters balm like petals on the floor.
Unquiet waxes small;
And ease engulfs the sore.

Margin

There is the place for questioning:
The margin of the sky.
Will you keep me company
Along the road,
Along the track?
Will you come with me and stand
Behind the wind,
Before the sun?
Then let us gather up our skirts
With bells that jingle,
Beads that chime
Let us dress in happy scarves
And say goodnight to the dark.

What Mulan Said To Elaine

Girl at the window, tell me
What is in your heart?
Your shutter has gone quiet,
But your sighs are loud.

You should not be idle, girl, your hands are young and deft.
You should not be heartsore, girl, not for any man.

Girl at the casement, how you
Hold yourself apart!
No homely thing can touch you --
Girl, your wound is proud.

Turn your time to profit, girl, addressing warp and weft.
There's your proper business, girl; attend to what you can.

Or come to France with me and
Study there the art
Of Bonny Jeanne who left us
Billowed on a cloud.

(The House Without the Door)

I'll spatter you with acid.

In my hands
You'll study how to make the death's-head grin.
Your bones will smoke and smolder, peeping steam
Between the patches of your living skin.
I'll hear you scream.

But that won't be sufficient.

I'll get help
Let sister Famine teach you how to groan.
You'll gorge and crave, till, famished, platters bare,
You'll gnaw your hands and feet down to the bone,
No morsel spared.

I've other sisters also.

With their aid
I'll lock you in a nightmare pricked with wrong,
With whirling, windy voices, frozen fells
And black crevasses, and the cold that longs
For cozy hell.

You think I have no power.
But I do.
You think you've stolen all my pith and marrow
And every form of strength and will I had.
But I still have my sisters.
They will catch you.
My sisters, they will catch you, and you'll pay.

(Spring Scene)

See the river, splashed with sun,
Clear on pebbles, clear on sand.
See the pansies prank the slope,
Purple spattering the green.

How could you think it would alter?
How could you think it would stay?
This place is too big to be shattered.
This place is too small to sustain.

The Same as Always

That's everything.
It's done.
You've nothing left
Except this hole,
This ragged piece of blank.

Girl, you're fortunate.
I've seen them rot
And trickle through the tissues,
Through the veins,

A hideous distillment,
Leaching death.

But not for you.
Right now, for you,
This granulating wound
This healing skin.

Banishing Chant

Pig-lady, pig-lady,
Go hide in the woods.
We don't want to see you,
Not here on the path.

We don't want to look at
Your lady-half-face.
We don't want to look at
Your cloven-hog-head.

Pig-lady, pig-lady,
With long maenad hair,
We won't have you near us,
We won't have you here.

We don't want to know you.
Stay deep in the woods.
Don't force us to face you;
Don't force us to see --

One side sweetly scented,
The other side rank.
One side slender wand-limbs,
The other side hooves.

Pig-lady, pig-lady,
With long, tangled hair,
We won't have you by us.
We won't have you here.

We can't bear to touch you;
Don't force us to feel
Your cold lady-flesh and
Hot, stinking sow's skin.

Don't force us to breathe where
You also draw breath
Don't force us to step where
You've printed the sod.

Pig-lady, pig-lady
Just keep to the woods.
Stay crouched in a thicket
And try not to be.

Ariadne

Limbs as pale as foam upon the strand --
I guess she must have whipped her slender arms
And kicked her tapered ankles till they snapped.
How else could she begin to rid herself
Of all that screaming fury, lye-harsh grief?
But honey, after all, you're just a girl
And this is just another stand-up show.

FYI

Render me a lantern made of straw
Peel from me each inch of living skin
Stuffing it with prickled yellow stalks
Then kindle me
And watch me writhe and crackle, stiffen, flare
Just so you know:
That's how you butcher a woman;
That's how you drop into hell.

No Good

My sweet colleen.
My little, little girl.

Do you suppose that I would let you cry
if I could comfort you?

Oh! How you sob and shudder, little girl!

I'll tell you this:
what's lost is sometimes found again.
It is!

I know,
that's nothing now.
But later on --

Colleen, colleen,
my angel, please don't cry.

(Cypress Boat)

Lie!

I need a story.
Tell it to me, quick.

Do you not see?

My heart is not a mirror.
How can I compass all these particles?
Do you suppose that I can draw them in,
and sensibly reflect the way they look?

I need a legend.
I must have a tale.

I want it gaunt and speedy,
so thin the wind can whistle through its bones,
so spare the shadows cannot cling beside
the sharp-marked edges of its easy shape.

Please,

the dazzle hurts me.

please, please:
I need a lie.

Japan

Soft, now.
Living company,
be still.

Let us press
as flat as shadows;
Let us take no space.

Let us be dim and muted,
dumb as tombs.

No space, no light, no sound.

For we will not engage
another atom of this breathing world
till we have said farewell.

Quiet,
living company,
be still.

Continue

Calme-toi,
ma biche, ma biche.
Be still,
my doe.

Resign.
That’s all you have to do:
lie back; endure.

The blood –
don’t let it frighten you.
There is no need.

That’s right:
your blood knows how to flow
and how to stop.

The sick --
yes, sometimes we reject.
But that will pass.

The tears –
you feel them shatter. But
you are still whole.

Calme-toi,
ma biche, ma biche.
Be still,
my doe.

Roel

So, this is how
the morning light explodes:
there is no color
like that light
when it glances
on your forearm
as you wake.

Girl at the Head of the Stairs

Sun through the stair window.
The girl’s long hair --
not brown,
not red,
a young color.

Blue jeans;
a scoop-necked top,
dark rose;
face raised to the beams;
a flawless throat.

He looks at her, enjoys.
She notices.
But that is all:
they are both
satisfied.