I Often Read, Early Mornings

I often read, early mornings, words to sound one’s heart,

for the whole day’s desires await me,

mouths wide open, posed before my bleary face

while I peel my dreams off reluctantly as an old nightgown. 

O in that river stream fresh lilies.

Into the heart’s deep pool I plunge the bright needles, one after another

joining heaven and earth. I cling to them, 

drawing sun and shadow into the water and out,

the dappled light rustling, braiding liquid with air.

Creamy bubbles. Giddy light. Everywhere I look

deep wells of a layered world. A flash, 

and again my heart clears to mere shadows.

In bed each night, I read travel books,

bearing my deep thirst for this world, bearing the pang of leaving it,

slipping agreeably asleep, tumbling forever through its pistils,

passing countless wounds. A frost grain’s my sled dog,

a wheezing galaxy my ice.