Under

To be without mystery
under the trees, the leaves
among you, you star

          *

Beyond the highway
under the tarmac
across the bridge
wait a minute
under is misleading.

          *

Under the fountain water
I could see the wind
and feel gravity
and for a second
I wanted not to return.

          *

Under your eye
a yellow leaf
on dark grass
curled up around
the edges, holding
midnight
rain.

          *

I hit my head
on the rock under
the peonies when
I fell for you.

          *

Rock. Snake.
And what
comes next.

          *

Under the mirror
alteration

anything animal
still

chattering monument
sensation

mouth opening
till

the black blaze:
gone.


          *

Under a feather
pillow
fingers grip
climbing up
the tree
the sparrow
leaps
from when you sleep
at last.

          *

Under your tea cup
intuitive knowledge
wets and warms
the tabletop;
the light slants in
as I lose my page
looking at you
and all that I know.

          *
Under the range
where the mouse got away
from our cat
there’s a hole the size
of a silver dollar:
that is my church.

          *

Under the last page
or rather behind
a couple of blanks
to fill out the signature.

          *

Under the moment
indebted
by the window
the dog twitches his nose:

the deep unconscious
wisdom system
wants to go for a walk;
I put on my shades.

          *

Under command,
utterly damned.

          *

Under the sound
of cricket cliques
the animal worm
just moved along.

          *

Under the bark
the revelation
of ants
was lost on the beak
which pecked
because.

          *

Under the brick
nothing
but some ashes.

          *

Under the rosary
my mother’s hands
like scorched earth
under a forced march.

          *

I bury my loved ones
under my bed
every night
I close my eyes.

          *

Under the leather
the hair on my arm
stood defiantly
against the summer’s
ninety-degree sun.

          *

Under the bleachers,
mouth-to-mouth.
A thousand stomping feet.
Touchdown someone.

          *

Under the paper
more paper
and all of it under
dust.

          *

Under the sun?
Oh, corpses . . .

people voted for.

          *

Under the moon?
Beats me . . .

alone in my room.

          *

Under my face
I’m already
asleep forever.

          *

Under the sink
it sounds like the mouse
has returned.

Feet grown cold
on the kitchen floor,
I’m not sure I care.

          *

Under the stem
I pause and stare
at the golden skin
I’m about to bite.

          *

Under the vacuum
the spot that was missed.

          *

Under the river—
How the hell should I know?

          *

Under the eggshell
an aureole
flies
back and forth
through a cup of milk.

          *

Under the flies
it was starting to snow
on the stove
the kettle screamed
to be picked up
is all she ever wanted.

          *

Under the dawn light
breaking through the blinds
he imagined he was
a pyramid.

          *

Under the clock
the waves
smack the shore—

“It’s a long way
to the top
if you wanna rock . . .”

          *

In the Moses basket
under the crib
stuffed animals
impersonate the dead.

          *

Under the chair,
squeaks and moans;
over it, streaks
of silence and poems.

          *

Under the skull
the sun rises
and sets
among mothballs.

          *

Under my thumb
the page of a book
I was hoping
you would read
so I can ask you
about it.

          *

Under the night-
gown, the old
north wind blows—
the private language
everybody knows.