Year
In a field I am the absence of field - Mark Strand
upon a red wheel barrow - William Carlos Williams
I dwell in Possibility—A fairer House than Prose - Emily Dickinson
upon a red wheel barrow - William Carlos Williams
I dwell in Possibility—A fairer House than Prose - Emily Dickinson
I love the way crows walk...
to wit - to woo - to wound - and last - Robin Blaser
Who?
someone to send to, these
the impertinent tocks
the unmannered ticks that
tickle spur the near
grackle's cough, IT
a statement
makes which
is the
displace
ment
of air
In spaces
without known
design the
tree, close,
wanders too
ponders a
coughing bird
its musical
fourths disclose
concurring
with traffic down
the hill and out
over
the bay
where gulls
wing
unheard
on the
hill yet
seen yet
dip in time
with the
grackle's
hack
all is parsed
paired
quartered
remaindered
squared
squared
among apparent
but unprovable
perhaps disproven
- if reason is the thing -
things
Who
but the old
painter missing
an eye
flicks in
measure
too
tapping toe
countless
endings
as they go
of smoke and fire
the scratch
once
twice
the strike
a match begins
it is all
all over again
Again
there
atop
the
hill
he
sits
on the chipped stoop
the flaking paint (not
to be
mistaken
for moss
or manna
or for
an eye's
remorse)
flakes
He can still
hear clearly
a thing
a song
or two
in thirds
and fourths
one eye can take
in the smatter
not dismissing
the missing other
(there always is
something gone
something undone)
the image stations
juxtapose
flatly (mono)
yet hear the
cleared throat's
black roundabout
washed out
washed out
the traffic's
turning
back
the sounds
(implied only)
in bay's waves
sunlight
on the winking caps
in the sinking troughs
the
spin of
hunger flashed
on
wings
white
the
sea
gray
but for
the sparks
suggesting
gulls daubed
quickly
upon the
water's
canvas
their tips
mute each
downward
movement
coughing
coughing
too
and again
in rhyme
timed
~~~~~~why,
they are
coughlets
~~~~~~yes
upon which
so much
depends
forgetting the
transport
the color
the states of dryness
which may or
may not
feed
any notion
archaic of
time or
beauty
nor wetness
slake
dependencies
shadows
gathered
round
or
spirals
deeds
'no matter'
of air
for that
matter
unsettled
seeking a nest
or home
even an eave
within which
one may (shall we)
re-gather
in the water's
throat
the bell tones
there, their
displacing as
does a grackle
the near air
even the further
found change
sensed only
sometimes heard
sometimes not
It begins always
with a bird
black
devoid
not to be dismissed
not to be forgot
Which
Who
in forgetfulness
let him not
dissolve the
plot
implicit
invisible
within the
unkennable
the indivisible
yet known by sight
and in the seeing
divided parsed
for rehearsals
alone
again
a revelation
or perhaps
a summation
of
contracting
wings
that
they
the gulls
are
disassemblers
screaming
all the while
the waves consider
all the while
slapping time
and tide
The one eyed
painter too
flicks and claps
repeats silently
as he will and is
want
his lips moving
as
does a spider make
a
quieter order
in
a darker corner
no sight needed
only sense and silk
beneath an obvious
wheelbarrow (on its
back) astride the
brown thistles
the wheel's bent
completes no circle
not one turn to signify
a round (-alay about)
long grass between
thin planks braids
the worn lattice
a whirling wind
holds a hollow within
lends
a reprise of
weight or perhaps
only a mind's
commotion above
matter denoting
dimension
depth
of field
again 'no matter'
the yard's motions
go unnoticed
the one hand over
the one good eye
and the missing
vocals
the shapening words
in exaggeration
do mouth
do borrow
to woo
a semblance
that lasts -
Who
Seeing the light
(thinks he does)
that it is good
and in the seeing
divides the light
from the darkness
(which is not the
grackle).
And he calls the
light Day, and the
darkness he calls
Night (which is
a pattern of gulls).
And the evening
and the morning
are the first day.
Reviews
No reviews yet.