song 14

a.
A tree is fire.
River is cutting light like flour.
A broom is every morning.
A woman works, and snow sleeps in the sky behind her
Earth in this light is moon of the snow

Jarrett Lee Lane.
Alicia and Fawntane.
Tracy and Nancy Morgan.
If an orphan has no mother,
What do you call a mother/sister who has lost her son or brother?
A broom or window, a twitching river of sleep.
Earth in this light is moon of the snow.

Want to be taken up out of this world by word;
I want to be the child of the mother of the verb.

b.
A prayer burnt from the air
Play, prayer, broken down
The white, the red, the double crown
Match each piece at the difference
Was from is
The pieces are His
A tree wearing its wind
Suffering from its leaves back to its root
Permanent in the sap is every word for frost, for fruit.
Jarrett Lee Lane.
Alicia and Fawntane
Tracy and Nancy Morgan
Raised by mother, grandmother,
It was a house of women and
I tell you he had word he had work to do
You know what? He did it
Here is a man worth mother love, sisters’ love
Here is a man made by mother/sister love
I want to be taken up out of this world by word;
I want to be the child of the mother of the verb

c.
A broom is every morning,
A woman with the snow asleep in the sky behind her.
A tree in the wind. A tree is fire.
A mother/sister who has lost her son/brother; changes: leaves.
The world is tragic, meaning ongoing.
Play is a way of asking for mercy,
Ourselves in revealed nature.
A play best, broken open.
May I be what you say I am? Yes ma’am.
Here is a man worth mother love, sisters’ love.

Hydrology.
Logic of water – where the river is constrained it deepens.

d.
Snow, or broom, or every morning
If an orphan has no mother, what do you call their staying?
Hydrology
The logic of water pays itself through suffering
With genius-broken sunlight
And the river becomes the next river down
Transparent like a window or the call of an owl
A Narrows is intense motive
The way we go is what we get
Sometimes Christ says, I won’t take my cross off you,
Not yet
You and water go all the way through

I am staying with the mother of the verb
I follow the son of the mother of the word

e.
Where it has rained:
Green as a hill of tea in a bundle on her back,
Persistent.
Even sleep carries the current.
Here is a young river made by mother/sister love.
May God give the dead their rest,
Meanwhile we are subject to the test.
I can only give them my best, this much:
Repetition of the verb.
I am the son of the mother of the word.

Hydrology. Logic of water – where the river is constrained it deepens.
Raised by mother, grandmother.
It was a house of women and I tell you he had word, had work to do.
You know what? He did it.

Want to be taken up out of this world by word;
I want to be the child of the mother of the verb.

f.
A window, a fragile sleep refracting light
Four women on a green hill each carrying a sack of night
The wealth in suspense in the lake.
Long and narrow, a path tracing up the hill
Where the light split by the sun falls where it will fall.
The lake slips the spillway, to the river to the bay.
Sometimes I don’t have enough for a Sunday.
Wanted to be the tear that crawls back up the cheek
To cry itself out the other eye.
Now I
Want to be the child of the mother of the verb.

g.
Narrow down, deepen
The widow’s mite, donation
Sometimes barely enough for a Sunday
It’s a hard way
Peace is searching her purse for something to give
It costs to live

And life is beginning
Tiny as a microbe
As invisible as hope
Memory is imitation of the unforeseen
A tree wearing its wind
A tree in the wind suffering from its leaves back to its root
Persistent in the sap is every word for frost, for fruit
Jesus says, I won’t take my cross off you just yet,
Go all the way through it
The lake slips the spillway to the river to the bay
Christ let me carry this down to a Sunday

h.
River cutting light like flour.
A broom is every morning.
A woman works with snow sleeping in the sky behind her
The tree wears its wind
Suffering from its leaves on down
The white, the red, the double crown
It was a house of women and
I tell you he had work to do
And
He did it
Here is a man worth mother live, sisters’ love
I want to be taken up out of this world by word;
I want to be the child of the mother of the verb

Permanent
Lane River

prime
A tree is fire
River is cutting light like flour
A broom is every morning
A woman works, and snow sleeps in the sky behind her
Earth in this light is moon of the snow

Jarrett Lee Lane
Alicia and Fawntane
Tracy and Nancy Morgan.
If an orphan has no mother
What do you call a mother/sister who has lost her son or brother?
A broom or window, a cracked river of sleep
Earth in this light is moon of the snow

Want to be taken up out of this world by word
I want to be the child of the mother of the verb

A prayer burnt from the air
Play, prayer, broken down
The white, the red, the double crown
A tree wearing its wind
Suffering from its leaves back to its root
Permanent in the sap
Is every word for frost, for fruit
Jarrett Lee Lane
Alicia and Fawntane
Tracy and Nancy Morgan
Raised by mother, grandmother,
It was a house of women and
I tell you he had word he had work to do
You know what? He did it
Here is a man worth mother love, sisters’ love
Here is a man made by mother/sister love

I am staying with the mother of the verb
I follow the son of the mother of the word

Be with me
I’m with you

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