Amergin

I am the furnace of evening, the
quench of dawn; who but I
breaks the soul borning?

the thousandth
is as the first:
a loss without understanding.

measured

winter:
the wind takes a step towards me
but I am in water;
each mother has something to ask,
some far question
with fewer answers.

back

throughout the call
the tunnel of road,
tree, and sky
I am walking; through
the heart I am coming,
and the flesh too.

madonna

madre de dios-
save, save us,
call us forth
when the world has swallowed us up.

praise

I, the burning
wrote the names
freshly;
on the window,
on the door
with the white-hot hand
with the heart
called each name
to a door of the universe.
none but I, the quenched
rested behind the new door
the soul, shut fast.

flame

the prayer, in the breath
in the mouth, in the soul;
the body, replying
I.