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Never seek to tell thy love Love that never told can be For the gentle wind does move Silently invisibly I told my love I told my love I told her all my heart Trembling cold in ghastly fears Ah she doth depart Soon as she was gone from me A traveller came by Silently invisibly O was no deny

Never the time and the place And the loved one all together! This path—how soft to pace! This May—what magic weather! Where is the loved one's face? In a dream that loved one's face meets mine, But the house is narrow, the place is bleak Where, outside, rain and wind combine With a furtive ear, if I strive to speak, With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek, With a malice that marks each word, each sign! O enemy sly and serpentine, Uncoil thee from the waking man! Do I hold the Past Thus firm and fast Yet doubt if the Future hold I can? This path so soft to pace shall lead Thro' the magic of May to herself indeed! Or narrow if needs the house must be, Outside are the storms and strangers: we Oh, close, safe, warm sleep I and she,— I and she!

Time collapses between the lips of strangers my days collapse into a hollow tube soon implodes against now like an iron wall my eyes are blocked with rubble a smear of perspectives blurring each horizon in the breathless precision of silence one word is made. Once the renegade flesh was gone fall air lay against my face sharp and blue as a needle but the rain fell through October and death lay    a condemnation within my blood. The smell of your neck in August a fine gold wire bejeweling war all the rest lies illusive as a farmhouse on the other side of a valley vanishing in the afternoon. Day three    day four    day ten the seventh step a veiled door leading to my golden anniversary flameproofed free-paper shredded in the teeth of a pillaging dog never to dream of spiders and when they turned the hoses upon me a burst of light.

We knew. Anne to come. Anne to come. Be new. Be new too. Anne to come Anne to come Be new Be new too. And anew. Anne to come. Anne anew. Anne do come. Anne do come too, to come and to come not to come and as to and new, and new too. Anne do come. Anne knew. Anne to come. Anne anew. Anne to come. And as new. Anne to come to come too. Half of it. Was she Windows Was she Or mine Was she Or as she For she or she or sure. Enable her to say. And enable her to say. Or half way. Sitting down. Half sitting down. And another way. Their ships And please. As the other side. And another side Incoming Favorable and be fought. Adds to it. In half. Take the place of take the place of take the place of taking place. Take the place of in places. Take the place of taken in place of places. Take the place of it, she takes it in the place of it. In the way of arches architecture. Who has seen shown You do. Hoodoo. If can in countenance to countenance a countenance as in as seen. Change it. Not nearly so much. He had. She had. Had she. He had nearly very nearly as much. She had very nearly as much as had had. Had she. She had. Loose loosen, Loose losten to losten, to lose. Many. If a little if as little if as little as that. If as little as that, if it is as little as that that is if it is very nearly all of it, her dear her dear does not mention a ball at all. Actually. As to this. Actually as to this. High or do you do it. Actually as to this high or do you do it. Not how do you do it. Actually as to this. Not having been or not having been nor having been or not having been. Interrupted. All of this makes it unanxiously. Feel so. Add to it. As add to it. He. He. As add to it. As add to it. As he As he as add to it. He. As he Add to it. Not so far. Constantly as seen. Not as far as to mean. I mean I mean. Constantly. As far. So far. Forbore. He forbore. To forbear. Their forbears. Plainly. In so far. Instance. For instance. In so far.

The first thing I did against my will is see light. Older, in my mother’s belly with a good mind, I sometimes dreamed different kinds of darkness. I kicked, had sweet dreams and nightmares something like death, unborn happiness, blind hallucinations, memories I can’t name that still push me to act with unborn hands, all before breathing. What last thing will cross my mind after last rights and wrongs? They say the grand finale is like sleep, I may feel love’s nuts and bolts unscrewing — it’s best to be held tight. A pillow does not kiss. May I never waver in peaceful unmindfulness. I’ve seen passionate suffocation, I’ve felt exquisite pain. Far better doggerel: “Nurse, nurse, I’m getting worse!” Undone, I’d like my last thoughts to rhyme: I did not lend you my love. The end.

1 You may find at the market a casual comment swerves into 
conversation that’s deeply metaphysical with a young man by 
produce. He wears a white T and jeans, ordinary yet careful about his food. “Every time I meditate, I begin in space among the stars,” he says. “Many of these beings,” he continues, “are not physically 3-D, so it’s frustrating to describe them.” “I have the impression their silver color comes from within.” “They look at me with tremendous love from almond-shaped eyes.” “There’s no sunlight. The whole cloud structure is luminous and the ground crystalline.” “A lot of purple and blue, like twilight.” It’s a complex, partly inarticulate narrative, perhaps because he feels I won’t believe him, yet he’s spontaneous. I don’t need to question the reality of his story. He’s sincere. 2 There’s more energy now as heat, connectivity, radio waves, data, X-rays, and all kinds of interactions. We operate with higher electrical current inside, which can 
rejuvenate you physically by the nature of connectivity, moving 
freely around the body. The next week, smiling, mid-sentence, “seeing Earth from deep space, blue and alive.” More often now, ETs are discussed at the co-op, also, coincidence, spirit molecules, time tunnels, and quanta uncertainty, since we’re close to The Institute. I like that he expresses himself to me as a kind of witness in transition. He’s read my work, and thinks me more knowledgeable than I am, since my poems aren’t true. “Pleiadians create new visuals through which I can imagine,” he says. My care is required for witness to resonate energetically with listener, however nonchalant I appear. The more compassion one has for non-normal experiences of others, the sooner consciousness will shift toward the stars. To him, this means shifting the ethical structure of communicating a narrative. “I think of myself in a service capacity.” 3 “One silvery insect was seven feet tall; I shook his claw and we 
conversed.” “Sometimes reptiles hoard crystals to send and receive information.” “They can space-travel versions of themselves here, as snakes.” “Lipids in a membrane behave like that, channeling the atmosphere.” At home I write, “The membrane is like a liquid crystal to the sky.” Next week, in line, he’s with a beautiful woman with a worn face who knows me. She’s not well, and she wants me to visit them and their animals. “They know they don’t end when they die,” she says; “It’s sad they’re leaving, but it’s voluntary.” “They’ve relatives on other planets, sentient beings with the right to vote.” “Have you ever watched an animal and suddenly it disappears?” he chips in. Witness involves a significance equivalent to truth. “The whole idea of visiting another planet, communicating with a being from another world, to me that’s spiritual.” 4 “When they speak, they subtly vary certain sounds; I hear words, but their sound carries different meaning to my body.” “Some words I read weren’t there when I began.” “Use these new words, enhanced by your imagining, to allow our 
dimension to emerge.” “Imagination stabilizes the shift.” In Santa Fe, in Tucson, Lima, La Paz, people see extraterrestrials. When I step outside, a velvety multitude of moths and insects, 
transparencies, on my screen door whirls up to the porch light. Milky Way shines 3-D with white clottings and dark rifts, covering the ground and trees with phosphorescence. Comets, asteroids from deep space, planets moving at will, contribute 
to this glamour of wonder. He shows me how to pull frequency, starlight, down through his body into the ground, and I try it; I’m more open now. I can carry more light, which fuses with similar energies in mass 
consciousness. Earth will radiate this consciousness as a star or sun on horizons of his other worlds. “Let us hold that portal open for you, in the form of your little crush on him, of light streaming down, and feel a surrounding new ideal,” they say to me. “Now, imagine yourself in the Pleiades.” “You wish to give a present to the source, like compassion or rainwater 
from home.” Early on, I divined that this book already exists in the future. After all, I’d thought of it; it’s a probability, somewhere, complete, on a shelf. My intention is to seek that future edition and consult it to create this one, the original, for you.

The old cupola glinted above the clouds, shone among fir trees, but it took him an hour for the half mile all the way up the hill. As he trailed, the village passed him by, greeted him, asked about his health, but everybody hurried to catch the mass, left him leaning against fences, measuring the road with the walking stick he sculpted. He yearned for the day when the new church would be built—right across the road. Now it rises above the moon: saints in frescoes meet the eye, and only the rain has started to cut through the shingles on the roof of his empty house. The apple trees have taken over the sky, sequestered the gate, sidled over the porch.

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, With conquering limbs astride from land to land; Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. “Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

Have but one God: thy knees were sore If bent in prayer to three or four. Adore no images save those The coinage of thy country shows. Take not the Name in vain. Direct Thy swearing unto some effect. Thy hand from Sunday work be held— Work not at all unless compelled. Honor thy parents, and perchance Their wills thy fortunes may advance. Kill not—death liberates thy foe From persecution’s constant woe. Kiss not thy neighbor’s wife. Of course There’s no objection to divorce. To steal were folly, for ’tis plain In cheating there is greater gain. Bear not false witness. Shake your head And say that you have “heard it said.” Who stays to covet ne’er will catch An opportunity to snatch.

Driving to the new dentist’s office the slow drive of a new place with the McDonalds that I don’t go to on the left, the mall two miles away. The Courthouse and the Old Courthouse road signs that break apart, the fork in the road that looks nothing like a fork or a spoon, in fact at best, maybe a knife bent in a dishwasher that leans to one side. And I know the dentist will ask about my last visit and want to know in months that I can’t say some time ago and I know he will ask me about flossing and saying when I’m in the mood won’t be the appropriate answer. He will call out my cavities as if they were names in a class. I brush my teeth before going in. It’s like cleaning before the cleaning person but I don’t want him to know I keep an untidy mouth. That I am the type of person who shoves things in the closet before guests arrive.