Draw the Bridge

Yes, but what was it to be like,
To be in the field from which things
More or less like seemed to pop out?

What is the base, that change can change?
You can’t say it’s gone that was not
Or is still that is not. The bridge?

We would like to see what’s the bridge,
Where’s the bridge that spans now and then,
Changed, the same for us as for you.

Named Not

God, all your gods,
All your myths are
The not named, made
Real by the name.

It’s not that they
Aren’t real, but just
Their real is ours,
Our power the source

And show of theirs.
Once life shat air,
Life feared no air,
Grew branched and vast.

You can’t shed us
Yet, and we can’t
Quit you. Who will
Will knot the real.

The Snow Ghosts

They want to haunt their own world,

And they want no part of yours,

Which is why they’re found in snow

Or would be found, but they’re snow.

They’re so much like snow they fall,

Their veils the masks for their veils,

And all you can note’s faint wind,

The leaves played the part of mice

And then were brought in the house.

There they go, the way light shifts

When they lift from their bare field—

White stage, blank screen—more pale space.

Once the world’s too warm and life

Grows back, green and bronze, they’re gone.

By the time they’re back, you’re gone.