from Hinge Picture

“Crawl in,” said the witch, “and see if it’s hot enough to put the bread in.” —Hansel and Gretel All roads lead to rooms. —Irish Proverb a stark Quake a numb Calm * clutching my Crumbl ejumble among Tombs and in Caves my Dream Vision Oarsman, oarsman, Where have you been? I’ve been to Leafy, I’ve dismembered the Queen. Oarsman, oarsman What did you there? I hid in a cleft, I braided the air. hearing our oars where their freed goatsteps sped and are silent by an extinct river O Babylon when I lay down alert for sliding cataracts where in corridors the print of dancing feet beyond poise I am prey posing in snow-light being of human form clothed in the scales of a fish Count him a magician he controls the storm walked on the sea shouting that he is the Logos of God that he is the Word original and first begotten attended by power upheld by his mother (a very active gesturing baby) what if Simon Peter Jesus himself walked among the cold stone faces shouting NIKA emptyeyed blanksmiling Swiftness divination these false gods their commerce is the cloud so they can learn what is preparing in the sky Artificer of the universe Magician who controls the storm to see you in one spot I count the clouds others count the seasons Dreaming of archipelagos and the desert I have lived through weeks of years I have raked up fallen leaves for winter after winter across an empire of icy light Light of our dark is the fruit of my womb or night falling through the reign of splashes Liquid light that bathes the landscape in my figure Clairvoyant Ireland eras and eras encircled by sea the barrows of my ancestors have spilled their bones across the singing ear in hear or shell as wreck or wrack may be in daring There were giants on the earth in those days feasts then on hill and fort All night the borders of my bed carve paths across my face and I always forget to leave my address frightened by the way that midnight grips my palm and tells me that my lines are slipping out of question Divorce I manumission round with a gentle blow the casting branch my right hand My covenant was garment concealed or mask or matron Proceed with measured step the field and action of the law Like day the tables twelve whip torch and radiate halo Sky brewing coming storm Faraway over the hill when Hell was harrowed and earth was brought to heel how the hills spread away how the walls crumbled deathcolored frozen in time Where was the senate   zone and horizon Where are the people   mountain of light to the east Tell them I sail for the deep sea rest a painless extraction a joyful day bird of passage over all I love Goodbye to all the little fir trees of the future far   off    in    the    dread blindness    I   heard   light eagerly   I   struck   my foot against    a      stone      and raised    a    din    at    the sound    the   blessed    Paul shut   the   door   which   had been   open   and   bolted   it