I live in a room named East
on the map of the West at the edge
near the door cedars and alders
mix and tower,
full of ravens first thing each morning,
whose song is
a sharpness
we quarrelled so
over the genius
of the heart
whose voice is capable
they come on horseback
in the middle of the night,
two of them, with a horse for me,
and we ride, bareback
clinging to the white manes,
at the edge of the sea-splash,
burst open,
to divine
the hidden and forgotten source,
who is transparent
where the moon drops out of the fog
to bathe,
but not to us
the retied heart
where the wind glitters
for Ellen Tallman
Copyright © 2006 The Regents of the University of California
Suddenly,
Robin Blaser
