It Bears No Rhythm In It's Head - for Robin Blaser
'Burning up myself, I would leave fire behind me.' - Robin Blaser
1
I would speak to you
after fire
from after fire proclaim
a kingdom
beyond what can be said of it
or what can be made of it but
only must this, just,
only-now-time, tell you
to speak at will as you
will as if to please
a silent vase in an
open window
and so sing
because much
there is in image melody,
blood song,
appealing oranges in the
wooden bowl a monk once gave
'handmade for poets, '
(he whispers)
bending forward as if
to lunge
pointing toward the heart
and what is left
between its beginning lilt there
and the pretending to
end though displaced
air and silence be captivated,
miscreant
tongues at work in darkness
and breath.
What remains, remains.
Afterward there is not even
counting or even a surmounting
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poem by Warren Falcon
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