Mountains in the sky—how many shades of blue can the human eye see? How many can be felt?(By day? By night?) The problem iswithout light, (sun, moon,)there is no distance, all darkness is immediate and can containanything, (mountain, valley,) except the contrast necessary to focus clearly on any sort of definitive edge– so nothingever ends.
The favas have sprouted, green springs that turn into the soil, orient to sun, unfurl fat cotyledons–already this would not fit back into the seed. And the science of it is nota counterpart to joy, howeverthis shock of seedlings arises,in the secret of the night, veiled by the sheer fabricof a row cover, turning open– it may not be through cheerfulalliance that they all grewas one, but one can stillsay their new life compels them, and suspect that glee may transcend sentience– […]
Rising before the dawn, again,how quickly the days fall off,and how quickly some things arrive like nothing, how others don’t, until almost forgotten,reduced to the smallest sortof longing, a little bruise you can’t remember how you got, but there it is. Backlit the trees don’t look like trees, branches indiscernibly thick, it seems the sky is more dark than light, the sun coming through in little […]
The storm last night caught us all by surprise, a few strong gusts the only warning before a squall line rolled across the lake and in lashings of thumb-sized rain the sky turned green. Anywhere else I’ve lived that would mean run. Get down. Get as low as you can. Here, it was just the greenness of the trees washing into the liquid skywith its somewhere sun the cause of all the thunder, danger being highly contextual, and safetyhighly relative, personal even. I […]
This here is fine, but a really interesting playwould be about the boaton the backdrop slowly coming to realizethat is not actually at sea, is not an actor but only watching them play their parts on a stage that a backdrop borders but doesn’t engage, and how it still stays, knowing this, having no choice, not mobile or motile,not even with those fullpainted sails that it oncewas so proud of.
Up with the sun but it isn’t upisn’t even blush or flush with the butte the light comes from lowbut still catches on the grapestheir matte purple tinged with dew and pulling on the vines we’ve changed our places over time and nowI’m setting as it rises.
OPTIONAL POETRY 