The Thin Pale Man

(In the city smoke rises

from the hulking concrete

horizon is huddled with it

sky yellowish as snow

dirty as february

•

and the sound is broken

with stopping and starting exhaust

K says clouds but can

there be clouds in such a sky

I say K says

we just passed him

going the other way

•

across the street she says

the thin pale man bluebottle

bearded I ask perhaps

she answers absently

•

not yet she says perhaps

she says one day

•

what’s all the fuss

in winnipeg in winter

surely fifty poets pass by

at least that many in an afternoon

not like this one she says

his book has made a buzz

a living fly in winter

•

unexpected and annoying

wave wave she says before

he’s gone ah well

he’ll be back he’ll

be back)

~~~

the women are sturdy and strong

sun glints on their skin

they let down their hair

and smell of honey in the night

the light down on their arms

glows palely under the moon

•

rooster crows the sun

the page tells me

and it’s day again

all this light he says

all this cold cold light the shunning

•

... the sky over the trees grew red

•

(the words of the book melt into the head

you have to listen)

•

curling at its edges

like paper the yellowing moon

•

what’s written on a paper plate

words at the edge of dreaming

and the dream is desperate

•

if this is such a dream

how can I believe

the strawberries

falling into the cupped hand

those women with the mien

of earthangels

•

how can I believe the

history of terrors

grounded in believing

watching the sun dappling the horses

the moon whitening the trees

~~~

(after the reading

we arrive at the house

our feet mumbling in the dry leaves

drifts of leaves rising towards the door

drifts of leaves washing against the door

•

in the house plates are handed

for those who sit on chairs

on the uncovered floor

•

all those hands holding flat white plates

hands handling plates

white knuckles of grasping hands

plates flat and white like poems

poems rounded in colours, lilac mauve

blue and grey and ah the dark road

and oh the purple air

•

now food is bandied about

obscuring the plates

and I had thought the plates

the poems were the reason for everything

representing the possibility

of anything

don’t cover the shape

of my printed plate

I want to make out

what the whole thing’s about

•

ergo the sound of brown leaves

shuffling on the doorsills

the taste of a word sandwich in my mouth)

~~~

a boy walking on the road

to church carrying a bible

a man walking in the purple light

he disappears then appears again

still trudging the road

still with the book

under his arm

•

the early dawn in lilac

is every sacrifice unearthly horses

•

a crucifixion naked and nailed

every cool morning a resurrection

with one foot I carelessly break ice in the ditch

•

light is lilac

I enter the church

~~~

(in the room our heads nod

as though admitting

all modesty aside

to knowledge and understanding

our teeth chew our throats swallow

•

we promise our mouths

they may talk on and on

munch on and on and on

•

outside the house

the wind gusts all of a sudden

opening the door

•

a few dud leaves

brown and curled under

wander in and sit in a meek row

on the very edge of the carpet)

~~~

after sleep rising

to the gaze of the mirror

to the knowledge of the river

•

she walked there

sometimes I met her

•

once I found her yellow scarf

•

I raised my hand

but the sun shifted

and she was gone

•

after death rising

in the blue wind

•

after words

•

are you the bride

am I just a lover flicker and hawk

•

sweet woman

sweet women

the sun curls over

the water and the fields

and the mountains

where everything lies like a

student priest

•

for you woman dear

the door to my heart opens

we have learned the odds

and have embraced them

•

the scent of lilacs in the purple air

of far Russia and her pure words

have been spoken twice over

and she said give this unknown woman

my lonely grave

•

and she said when I love I love

try to understand how it is to live

between the swords

and the stars

•

on small scraps of paper she wrote

the wonders of the inside of

the head this woman the head

of the poets of her time

and she knows I’m a left-eyed man

you don’t get to be a saint

•

seeking an end to memory

•

here’s the river again and the ice

and Anna giving herself to love

all garments fall from her

but the garment of words

•

and what could be more beautiful

than a woman clothed in words

•

while in another century in another country

Emily Dickinson vaults the midnight horse

and gallops to her love

~~~

(the thin pale man on the road

on the opposite side of the street

what’ll I do to call him over

to my side of the world

what can I say yoohoo

you man with the scrubby beard

you erstwhile mennonite

•

he doesn’t turn his head of course

I wish he would

•

look Friesen I say look here

I have been to your house

I have eaten your good food

•

now my plate is empty

if I visit again will you

fill my bowl with salad

fill my cup with tea

•

and fill my ears with more words

than I could ever hope for

my eyes also

that I may be comforted

with the truth)

•

let’s say we can halt fear let’s say the music’s loud enough we

can hear it on our skins…