☀ Today's Poem: "December" Jos Charles

All that turns
is a wheel The sky
is ashen & a wheel that is turning as we cross
a bridge of stone

It is not yet noon in the port
where I live Like any a poem
that is after you Paul at Pont Mirabeau

We touch a bridge & therefore its stone
To touch a stone is forever to touch a bridge

In the street
they are starting fires It warms even us

What was crossed out is not the same
as what was never written down

Mountains mind even us

Looked at last at the branch that
plaits your face Symptom
like we cling gardener to each

Love referentless

From the roof of
the apartment branches break their pits seedless

within it men in
trees sing

In the aenigma
of a shadow

of a window left open
for wind
to leave In the thought

that cannot account for form & having spent

thought
we encounter form only In the distance

between the hole of
a stone & a dove within it

Of all we have

imagined & we have
imagined such distances What is known

& not known You touch
the stone it could be any

stone I live on

It is falling
ash in Santa Ana falling in your year
irrecoverably
in the evening
holding hands our
selves
into the evening
we wept a
quiet English
the day contained

(Such silence sudden
now in the clearing A tarp
chains the lot of our speech
Sunday no women washing at the washing
stones The past is only
the only mutable thing)

A lone tanker
in the waves swims