but for crows no leaves winter tree

    from DRENCHED THROUGH AT OLD AGE

       

       counting the age in crows

        at seventy-six they slip away

           the black of them near end of day

 

     in an alter-world

    these are your hands threading fireflies

    at a silent pace in an alter-world

    where blind replaces light thank you

    for your hands in times like this

 

       ah

       the butterfly

       not an actor

       

   

      in summer grass is

         a small child is

            a small tube of

               soft snow

       

 

    from alter-world

      how willowy the advice how docile I unsettling the wind

 

   

       dark night yes

         lamps of the

            purse-seiner   

 

    

          afforded a choice of smooth or rough, fat or thin,

            I've taken the path that makes moonlight

          most difficult to collect, to bear, to believe in

 

         exhaustion

        in the side pocket

         green tanka

            

  spent fields after dark men move slow and smoke 

        moon-viewing

         &

            with

               ladders

         &

            pants

         &

            more

              pants

         &

            a

               lot

                    more 

                             howling

        April snow

         late travelers

            white as love

             

It electrified marsh curlew