Select a poem:
The Table I Keep
This is the table I keep.
This is my warn spot in the world.

A table to
rest my ink bottle on.
A table
with other tables inside it.
The ink wanting to be heard.

Ink whose body is a river,
whose fullness is
to be joined with other waters.

The ocean,
rolling landward
comes home
one river at a time,
cresting and breaking into song.

Each day at my table
I hear the heartsong
    and the lament,
as one by one
the rivers come home.
April 1991, Taos
 
 
 


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