daz Herz an sich

The cold, wind-teared face of night,
the gaps between perception,
tree and eye, eye and mind, heart
and another heart hurt. The way they
damage us, our deleterious hope. The way we
still rise in the golddust morning,
sprawl in grass rising over our bodies,
sun-lid light, warm red wind
and an eye opening into
everything all afternoon again,
sunbed, cloudleaf, a goldfinch
deleting the land and landless luft
in fine-lined, bonefeathered wings.

the steam at the edge of your glasses

in the long early hour
between coffee and showering
I quiet my clamoring
body in borderless layers
the way snow mutes a city,
so even in this winter-
gray cloud-lit morning,
everything sounds like a sunrise.

unbinding into the day

after dawn,
diamond-cold winter,
before the sun
has climbed over houses
across the street,
their smokestacks billowing
white streams back-lit
against newborn blue sky
flowing out into the east
bound wind.