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Saturday, November 28, 2009



Today I am most fortunate. Medusa's Kitchen has published an entire issue of my poetry and photographs.. I found the photo in a pile of books in Jan Jett's backyard that had been out in the rain for some time.

HISTORY

We thought then, when we were travelling,

The children knew something

Special, the way the light moved in their eyes,

The kinds of sounds they chose to become

Words. We would watch the owls

Beariing gifts of curious silver on silent

Wings. Not one of us said a thing.

I supposed that all things were

Like this. The rising of the moon

Was on everyone’s lips. How wonderful.

How pale. We had never seen a moon

Such as this one. Each time it was new.

Now, standing on the high places near

The edge of the water we think the wind

Has something important to say. It does

Not. It speaks but it has no words. It is

Tongue for the trees who tell us of

Bees, the names of the seasons,

The kind and number of the breezes,

How light makes sound through the cambium.

We have been so often wrong that for a

Moment we doubt the children.

We discover a red color we have

Never seen before. Language

Abandons us just before dusk.

We question each other with gestures,

Frantic to recall how it was

We made fire, how we knew to use

These roads, where we had been.


FOLK TALE

When we lived along the edge

Of the sea we used to heat our homes

With a certain oil that burned

With a particular clear green flame.

As children we thought this oil

Came from the fish that were

Our livelihood. Allejandro said

That the green was caused by the

Fact that a type of fish caught here

Shared a common dreaming.

They dreamed they did not live in the seas but

Instead swam through the oaks and

Firs that surrounded our village and

Because the entire fish was pressed

For this oil, their brains gave

Up the greens that were the color

Of the drempt leaves. Maria Xavier said, no,

It was only the food they fed upon

That graced the oil this way.

As we grew we found out that

The oil did not come from fish

At all, but rather from a sacred

Well on the cliffs above the sea.

This well had a peculiar

Property to it. It was impossible

To pump the oil out. It had

To be withdrawn by placing one’s

Mouth to the ground of the well

and sucking the fluid from the

Earth. We were the fish,

Our mouths pressed to the breast

Of the earth, our life breath

Drawing up this oil with fish

Mouth and exhaling emerald

Flames that warmed all the

Winters of our youth.


IF THERE IS NOWHERE

If there is nowhere for the spirit

To move, it builds its house in that

Place. We find wonder in the way

Distance reveals objects on the edge

Of disappearing. We find names for the way

A hand opens.

We give special attention

To the gesures trees make. “They are

Caressing the air.” We say.

There is a story, seldom told, of seeing

And not seeing, more than opening and

Closing the eyes.

We say dreaming is a way

Of seeing. We call from our sleep to

The waking world. It is a place

Where sound neglects language and

Spills from the lips, unhinged. It

Is unseen, a particle of the night.

What is seen: a body writhing beneath

Sheets – an avalanche of form.


HISTORY

We thought then, when we were travelling,

The children knew something

Special, the way the light moved in their eyes,

The kinds of sounds they chose to become

Words. We would watch the owls

Beariing gifts of curious silver on silent

Wings. Not one of us said a thing.

I supposed that all things were

Like this. The rising of the moon

Was on everyone’s lips. How wonderful.

How pale. We had never seen a moon

Such as this one. Each time it was new.

Now, standing on the high places near

The edge of the water we think the wind

Has something important to say. It does

Not. It speaks but it has no words. It is

Tongue for the trees who tell us of

Bees, the names of the seasons,

The kind and number of the breezes,

How light makes sound through the cambium.

We have been so often wrong that for a

Moment we doubt the children.

We discover a red color we have

Never seen before. Language

Abandons us just before dusk.

We question each other with gestures,

Frantic to recall how it was

We made fire, how we knew to use

These roads, where we had been.


DELTA MOON

The moon rose, thick,

Orange and damaged.

It was the horizon for a few

Moments, then, bleeding its

Refection into the river,

Lifted itself into the delta

And became the Autumn night.




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