Saturday, August 7, 2010
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
CRUCIBLE
From here it looked very much
Like a cartoon. All the movements
Were kind of jerky and forced.
As we drew closer we could see
The huge flocks of birds wheeling
And swirling in many colors.
It was beautiful and noisy with
Thousands of bird voices filling
The air and the gray rain just
Starting to fall making them glisten
Even more.
When we drew close upon them we
Could see they were circling above
A city filled with dead human beings.
The streets heaped with silence.
The stench overpowering. We had
To lead our animals away from the
Place quickly. The birds still above
In their mad flight, around and around.
This could be anywhere we recalled
That evening as we gained high ground.
There was no indication of any conflict
Just the crucible of the dead littered
Like driftwood and as black.
We stared into the fire a long time.
Then someone began to sing softly.
Before too long we were all singing.
It was a song without words and a
Million melodies all at once. Somehow
It was soothing. We began to return
To our bodies like angels descending.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Can You Speak Wind?
BASE CAMP
—D.R. Wagner
I am beyond the base camp this evening. I have travelled alone to be here
and yet I choose to write about this to be with others. Only then will I
be able to give purchase to these dulcet, idle days on the cusp of Summer.
Extraordinary clouds constantly reinventing themselves, the true writing of
water we can barely read in our torpor bred of ego. “Excuse me, can you
speak wind?" Can anyone here speak wind?
I suppose this is a lot like all that stuff you’ve read about the moon
before, how it goes away and then comes back looking different every night?
How it goes away for a few days, comes back and is a new moon? Well it’s
not. I was just out walking in that pale light and it was totally
different but essentially the same. It took thousands and thousands, maybe
millions of years to make that moon.
Oh I placed my hands on your body, the moon was there, a wreath of petals
awaking for the silk mist of our breathing. See how it is not new? I’ll
waken you as soon as I am able. It has been a long time not to be noticed.
Oh cover of the night, the hand of darkness that passes out of me, to
where do we go, where do we crawl after this kind of beauty?
Yes it has a look about it. Yes, it is very much of the heart. This is
why it has been penetrated time and time again. It is impossible to stay
there. We speak of our love for one another. A golden music comes from
our bodies, so vast, being on these seas all night. Ah the moon, the moon.
Here is the kingdom. Godspeed should we ever be delayed.
