Room 106

September 25, 2011

I want you to come to my land,
yes that dry backyard that merges
with the badlands we’ve got here;
to come and move some rocks about,
dig a hole for the fire –
lines for rainwater to run;

to search the dug earth mounds for stones
and stack them into round walls;
to let fire loosen the soil,
heat the water which makes us sweat;

to leave a hole on the roof,
let a wall collapse by snow;
teach me back a cosmology
weed my convulsions away
resynch my line with a death
no different from crop or winds

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