Domino - from "The One-Armed Man," episode 4

I captured paper dreams
at the Timber Falls Motel,
six black dots on a white surface,
unsettled message.
Division, blank talk defending
what I want.
Call me. There's enough for both of us.

Wax - from "The One-Armed Man," episode 4

I believed you were gifted.
A secret meeting in the woods, misguided.
Initials in blood,
the letter 'j',
a corridor of inquiry.
Crash; nervously smoking,
your connection strict,
a drug rundown
in the collar.
Lost, I was looking outside
to make luck.

The Clearing - from "The One-Armed Man," episode 4

I broke the beam of a flashlight
to catch a glimpse off limits,
the dead wrapped in plastic.
Enter one last chance:
I shouldn't have trusted
what you buried
in the clearing.
Maybe we should tell somebody
we were happy,
a long talk on possession,
visions all an act.
I keep thinking
I'm going but
I just can't get away.

Lotus - from "The One-Armed Man," episode 4

Come over later
when spirits penetrate
the slow hour
at the end of an afternoon.
I can make the connection,
reach across death's void just by
thinking pale.
Eat the lotus;
the danger for you lurches
involuntarily in
uncomplicated strokes.
Come visit. Wish for more.

Light comes through from behind - from "The One-Armed Man," episode 4

Speak to me
an old saying:

you're up against the
unsolveable.
stand on the paradox.

I wrote about the
names of birds,
the delicate practice
of singular joy.

Light comes through
from behind the poem.

I recognize the wound of
what you need.
It takes the strength of
four days to hide from
what was learned
early on.

On the cards - from "The One-Armed Man," episode 4

Cut through to ground a concern;
there's no logic at work here,
too many secrets left around.
I was taught to go through
the older targets,
confident mystery a key to
calculated ammunition.
I can't explain how I've been feeling - so dumb, or
high-strung, but
it will say so
on the cards,
a slipped hint
through lack of preparation.

Ghostwood - from "The One-Armed Man," episode 4

She had two visions:
grey on grey struggling
like an animal, a filthy portrait of
birds, unshaven morning.
From another part of the house, a tense whisper,
distant strains of a gentle hand, alarmed.
The mood a tundra, ghostwood dancing
on a cross:
Dance with me! Dance with me!
A snapshot, the way in.