Still in progress & needing development. Thoughts?

i. he, loose and aloft, in the desert
        He was something loose        at the edges he was
all untied and open                    at his perimeters his

waving borders so loose         in the wind fitting

that he would look so flyaway           so somewhere
absent from here                           where you saw him

            These are the branches        that came out
of his mouth his voice                        bloomed with trees

dogwood and mistletoe              tumbled from his
vocal strings                         minute wires clung to trembling

green vibrato                      but he spoke through nets
of leaves often             his voice caught in the foliage

           Where did you come from          dark-eyed waif?
Wanderer where                                 did you ask the sun

for directions with                                his hands clasped he's
holding moon under his tongue            --tree man

so inexorable                               in his carcas why did he
loose his ivory tongue                     on the hills?

The crows crawled up then                      they dug
their hooked wings                            into the earth hard nails

that scratched on limestone                  toward him
black smothering rings                           spun slow ascent

but he was in the desert                   the implacable
desert and the open                           --which was like

a door--was more                     the frame of his
wilderness than                             the scrawling emptiness

so through the door          he stepped leaving

the crows to ground                 facing wilderness

and howling wind              all the sun ever said was that

he could climb             his own vines to find a resting

place that all the world               was simply a door

to the next moment                the next spoke of the wheel

he had never felt               so loose even the wind

was slow behind him                 the crows laughing

at themselves when he            walked through desert doors

keeping the moon               under his tongue so as not

to disturb the air             or perhaps keep the door open

propping it with                 the green branches swaying

from his throat                      he was sprouting

there on the desert’s          side of the open door

all doors are open                spaces that his moon-dyed

tongue might move                      through seeking

the path to sun                      the path to sand

rock limestone                         crawling beneath his feet

roots solidly wound                    into cracks

ii. The moon from under his tongue

I am sheltered in the under universe

of my hands

here all beginnings

are my roots all circles

ending in each other

I have harnessed the hills

in my veins I have caught

the nets of air in my heartstrings

I am both

the intertwining voices of male/

female even here

in the implacable desert

the broad unmarkable desert

my water runs deeper

and I open doors

like pearls that run on water

cleaving tenuous valleys

where trees grow where

deep drinking trees find water

deep drinking from my upturned hands

in half the shape of a wheel

in half the shape of a moon of water

each circumference fit

to the other each wheel

in a wheel moon

in a moon

under my upturned universe

gleaming under my upturned sky

& reflected in the sure disk

that I shed on the hills

even the impossible desert

that I might grow there a tree

to reach its branches up

& mingle with the facing sky

this is the song of the upturned universe the song of the bear

crow and serpent writhing in the grass

making shadows in the sand beneath my feet

under my moon tongue leashed

under my moon tongue

gathered in my moon and water hands

can you dance with me under the water sun ride

the hills with me unleashed

take my riven hands the ones with which I loosed the moon

loosed myself on the broken hills

to dance with bear and crow and serpent

here in the light of the crossed and silver moon

I wrote on the sky with my blood

and found poetry in the steeping stars

I bled poetry

from my heart I drew it

from my blood my seeping blood

my seeping poetry blood on the walk

on the walls

I wrote language on the stars

twisting them into sounds or messages

on the blue canvas sky

the sky of the

iii. wide implacable god

she brings water out of the upturned hills.

They are like bowls that she fashions in clay,

that she draws from her skin

stretched over her aching, spinning bones.

She is aching with song,

with the poetry of her blood;

she spills it

to mark her place in the ground.

She is flourishing there.

The crows are living in her branches—

she, the wide implacable god

of the desert.

Her abundant arms are livid

with thriving voices, white

as though they might burst

with the electricity of her singing.