Poetry

Pastoral #1

I want to hold you like smoke
or breaths in winter
speaking your visible name
like the old demon in the hills
Who has burned his books
because all that haunts him
is in one word

Pastoral #5

I have tracked you
through pastures and meadows
pressing my ear
to creases in the grass
to hear the splash
of you passing.

Once I tried the trick
on train rail the coolies
beat into the basalt rock.
The frozen metal pulled my ear fast.
A truck stopped
Mister, are you all there?
the driver inquired.
I reckon not, I told him.