Poems

When the world’s shape
   differs from my guess —
           I hope I’ve found
       the willingness
                to come around.

They who expect
    unchecked dominion
of their opinion,

who always seek
   to speak last,
by none surpassed,

may they await
    the fate of all
last leaves that fall —

and be the first
    thinned
by changing wind.

Those below
    nourish what will grow.

Stars fall
skin bright
with fire
and endless sky

    Such was sung —
    and so I sing

When the method is wrong but the answer is right,
no answer can show what a question might.

Nonsense is the only sense
that happens in the present tense;
and when I find some sense at last,
I find the sense is in the past.