Door in the Mountain: New and Collected Poems, 1965-2003

Letter

I knelt to my parents Their suffering How much sleep there was in sleep How no suffering is lost Letter The hornet holds on to the curtain, winter sleep. Rubs her legs. Climbs the curtain. Behind her the cedars sleep lightly, like guests. But I am the guest. The ghost cars climb the ghost highway. Even my hand over the page adds to the ‘room tone’: the little constant wind. The effort of becoming. These words are my life. The effort of loving the un-become. To make the suffering visible. The un-become love: What we lost, a leaf, what we cherish, a leaf. One leaf of grass. I’m sending you this seed-pod, this red ribbon, my tongue, these two red ribbons, my mouth, my other mouth, —but the other world—blindly I guzzle the swimming milk of its seed field flower— 18 door in the mountain ...