Planting In Hilbert Space

Something wakes as from a dream,
Shakes itself and begins.
It is you, me, everyone who
Has been and will be.
It can see
Time, swim gravity,
Stretch its electric body
Over rises, bends,
To wonders where
Galaxies spin and what
Is born where all
Of it ends.
Every spark contains our
Hopes, sorrows.
As from a dream, I ask:
Tomorrows, please, can
You promise tomorrows?

Enchanted Object

The genie
Who grants
Wishes gardens the future
On beds of things to be
Along paths
That aren't yet:
Selves self fails to see.

Garden isn't envisioned only:

One becomes a gardener,

Nor do wishes come simply true.
The silver and smoke
Is decision.
The genie ahead is you.

Submarine Forest

From Honor and
Glory over Time
To the cargo hold
At the end
Of the orlop deck
Are lives unstuck
From lesser current
And released
Into the sea.

She Asks Me Such

She asks me such
Odd questions,
Just to see if
I am listening.
To be sure, there
Are curious features
In all inquiry
Assembled and traded
Where wisdom begins --
Which do not include
Answers-- that cannot
Be dismissed.
She asks me such
Odd questions
That I married her.

Where Weeds Obtain

Even though copper
Sells everywhere--
Dubichev: Human
Consciousness tries
Not to focus on
These problems,
Never to encounter them.
Tveretinov: There is
No future here, no
Need for people anymore.--
Two hundred forty eight
Fetuses found in the
Forest outside
Lyovikha ought not to
Go unnoticed.

Expanding Herbaceous Borders

Around this moment,
An idea in a brain, container
Seeking a shape contained,
Have I been more,
More than petals, fur, clouds
In an inland herd?
Have I been a bird?
Or more, in this thing
Thinking things, have
I ever flown before, me?
Among hills, seas,
Voices yet to be,
Have I soared over night,
Unlit rocks, snow-caps --a
Thing flying deaf from
Time's collapse upon
A path of lightning?
Maybe periwinkle or
Something blue beside
The gate, will do.

Mind And Poem

In lives, all poems live
Twice, and upon this
Fellowship presume a course
In memory, even
To immobility.
Even still, stopped
Still under still
Lateen sail like a
Caravel locked in ice,
The poem lives twice;
May sink or ruin in
Mind but is never,
Never left behind.