HUGH FOX

COUNTING 

 Counting the years, then the months, 
 days (“Of course you could have an 
 unexpected heart attack at any tiem.”), 
 hours, clouds, Santa Fe wraps, Gazpacho 
 Blanco, Lemon Grass Soup, glasses of 
 Kosher cherry wine, blessings before and 
 after everything, yit gadol, ve yit kadosh, 
 qadosh, qadosh, qadosh. *
  
 ____
  *The Beginning of the Jewish prayer remembering the dead, Kaddish. “Qadosh,” 
Hebrew for Holy, the source for the Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus/Holy, Holy, 
Holy in the Catholic Mass. 




FINALLY

 Finally the sun and the cool 
 wind stray into our jade-green 
 world, dark getting to be a sliver 
 between intensities of light that simply 
 can’t be, but are, the angels of death 
 evaporate, ravens and nightingales, 
 mummies and MRI’s, aneurysms, cancers, 
 asteroid showers, wars, plane- and car-
 crashes, the cartridges are all filled, 
 the printout a long continous hum of 
 sans souci, 
 eternally. 

  


 not weeping but 
 flowing 
 willows, 
 river-currents crisscrossing, 
 corrugated, 
 wind-rippled 
 flow, 
 rusty green 
 water, 
 Henry fuckfuckfuckfuck 
 Seine
 where have all the Millers-Nins 
 gone, 
 short time passing, 
 short time ago, 
 Buffy St. 
 Baptists, Congregationalists, 
 the Lord is my 
 river
 flow




IN THE BEGINNING

 All the ancient ones out,  
 the clouds miles thick, hardly 
 day at all, but just one big 
 celestial sunset, Save-a-Lot food
 stores, Radio Shack, Sherwin Williams
 painting the afternoon, me at the movies 
 with my twenty year old I just won’t let
 grow up/away, Jurassic Park III, never quite 
 going beyond In Principio Verbum Est/ In 
 the Beginning is the Word, gathering rocks 
 from our garden, molten fireball earth, 
 In the Beginning, creating father-gods
 that defy logic, still more logical than In 
 the Beginning was nothing and then...or...
 In the Beginning there was no beginning, it
 all simply WAS..., planting foxglove and 
 lilies in our garden, adding a Tuscan columned
 portico to the front of our house, as if 
 we were in the beginning of ever-renewable beginnings
 ourselves. 



RESURRECTION

 Celtic (Christmas Equi -- Jesus-sun-god -- nox) 
 sun-crosses, you’ve gotta believe in paradise 
 in order to be a  (Lach Heim/To Life.....here) 
 terrorista, wishing I still believed in eternal cloud 
 plains and beatific anything, the pines in the backyard
 (the back wall of our house three story tall windows)
 as eternal as I guess I 
 expect.