it was an unexpected card. "this got me
to thinking of you, he said, true, it's Japanese
art, but much of the charmed life
is present. (by now, character of this sort
is rare.)  I've been rereading your old letters,
really poems in prose..."

the glimmering curls of his writing
are so much like ripples that you could almost
dip a net deep into the paper and pull up
the arching wet weight of a golden carp,
pulled to the surface by the creamy luster
of a paper moon while the edges of the ink blur

"It's puzzling to think that such incisive
and gentle observations seem to have been
totally forgotten-- we must keep alive
some of it--"

the lines have given him away. his palms
hold another story; a life of love
based on stardust and heat.  "I'll never
really know what threads hold my heart to you,
singing songs to you in holiday notes
(I always wanted to make love to you by candlelight)

my wife says hello.
love,
Bob"

at night two red candles
light my hair, and as i fall asleep
my heart and wings flutter
as i spread my arms
in a white silk gown--
a bird, sleeping in the air

dreaming into the wind
gathering sands and trees
and robins and roses

while a piano is
playing in an old-fashioned
drawing room.

i wake up like a terrier
snapping at sunlight.

there are many ways to get ready
for living: sit in a silent room
and rest the spirit,
melt like
snow in the sun;
while
molecules in the cell of Heaven
cling like cobwebs

to the soundless words
of my ancestors

xanga is back?!