Before committing these poems and pieces to cyberspace, I go over them again and again, aloud, listening for meaning, listening for ease, listening for rhythm, listening for music, listening for truth. When in my limited capacity I hear them, I open the cage and set the entries free. Some fly off right away. Others stay here in my room, roosting on the bookshelves, or gazing out the window at the street. They seem hushed, as if the sky were about to speak.
I give you my hair, I give you
my face, I give you my nails.
I give you my voice and my eyes.
I give you the trees and the hills.
I give you the colored leaves
adrift on silent, mirror-gray ponds.
I give you the dawn, frozen now.
I give you the roads. I give you
the graves and the secrets they hold.
I give you the earth where I stand,
and the places I have been.
I give you the distance between.
I give you my shoes. I give you
my arms. I give you my hands.
I give you my faith in dreams.
Songs and Letters, November 5, 2006
Winter Poems, Cosmopsis Books, 2007
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