Quickeniing

Mirror.

Wheel.

Memory , a small bird.

First cutting.

The first time I had sex.

The rock cliff at Point Judith.

Out of the nest of Autumn.

Poor patriarch.

Ideologies of want.

Feeding birds under the birch.

Rising sun, chimney smoke.

Flight.

A bed below the surface.

Near death, my mother spoke of my father, rowing.

Tea with monks.

Mother, without thinking.

Fire.

My hands again in the soil.

Place.

Boundaries.

When I was young, did I mind being nothing?

Aggregates.

In the country of your body.

Patterns from the stretched out years.