Woman and Bird

The cat dreams and purrs in brown
shadows. Her bias
laps the distance to the
bird. It is the hour of the Sphinx, and in

garish pretense she fancies she is the author
of everything, but the cat
is not so coy. She
drops her vowels like magnolias at the feet
of
illimitable night.

- aprés Breton

Always
- aprés Breton

Ah, I remember falling, wings already beating
a symbol of
flight in the face of death.
Isn’t it a bit much to begin these
voyages
without understanding resurrection?
And to make ephemeral
all
our ideas and meditations
which inspire compassion.

Is this why we
want to strike
against our ancient grief
as if that covenant would
replace mercy?
The strongest reason is liberty.
Don’t assume that we
remember automatically.
All the children of imagination
are less than
the world.

My self-knowledge, at best, is a custom
and that will
suffice in forgetful moments.
For an instant I’ll consider myself
gone
being always another and another man.
They are all mere aspects of
conjecture.
In the end, analysis is nothing
to be careful about.