I reaping
like an empty sack
waiting, still waiting
by the flat stones of the altar

the belling sheaves
        against the wind
a grain still sweet in milk
        before the hoarse whisper of sun
the staggering golden light

and you'd be just where I am
holding your makeshift up
knowing that nothing staggers
                behind the mask


                            ca 1982
                                from Puritan Elegy



finding the key, again
the lease-giving, under
the framework, displacing
the neediness

old hungers in the
ambience, resolve back
into the given nature
the creature has not only
grown old, but his body
changes, his body has
changed into something
that agrees with him,
earth yielding, as
it is



                            2008
                  from Song for the Stone House




                    - Jeremy