family poetry

why are the things that have no death
glass-blower of time
out of the deep and the dark
we break the glass whose sacred wine
night is dark, and the winter winds
the stars fell from heaven
i am singing to you
better than granite
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
with the meek, brown eyes
the old songs
among the mountains i wandered