from Correspondence

     a door left open to               the bee disheveling
         the page’s room               today’s rose
          availing quiet               enters and
  a soft await               comes away

across what intervenes               an ember
in the sleeping stacks               may be stored
         a stir               say how long
          forth of wings              in careful ash

* 

delay
                                 what sifts these days
puff of dust                     as smoke
an empty message
                                 at most
I meant to say                  attend
 

     a half-remembered map
                                 lamp-glints

a
way

*

                                    rain on
I go                                   the green
bare                                   winter field

                                       what is
                                   this ease
                                   hungers me
 

to meet                                earth’s mouths 
you                                    open and
                                       the fires

* 

the boat has its own light
the boat of bone

                      home
by night