i have never been this far before.
although i have ever wondered
of our ancestry
of our horizon where the clouds lay sleeping dogs
being of our forty generations and what came after
and the three men from the east who came after
the star were imaginary fathers,
and the three devils with worn shoes, they tramped after
and the three moons over the pines were my mothers
they left eggs and needles
all over the beaches,
under my fathers’ fragile moustaches!
i do not know what it looked like
when everything trumped itself
all the cockles warmed
a blood kindle cook-up with all their relations
in a big cookpot
when the vine in autumn with the
kissed with wet lips
or how the apples fell
but i went down to the water and i washed my face
among the clusters of crop
…start counting now
and do not stop until either you die
or something is forgiven
the long lines go further forever to the granaries at the end of the world.
i called out the fish and they came with their arms full of soft white glass
they were not hungry
if there is no need
there is no stumblinglight
and this world isn’t mine after all
but what it is comes to you slowly in shambles
and only when you’re ready.
now the horses are in the hills
the bees are ripe every one
you, drawn by the moon on a flickering wing
of my hair each strand where
even in winter
and still in time with each other.