I know it’s a glacial lake hence the hue– unearthly erethral more green than blue I had seen photos imagined it for days and when I went it looked the same but of course different it’s a trick being too well-versed in imagination I sometimes think I know every thing but then the tell like some alpine salamander swimming out past the wreck of some half -submerged log casting tiny ripples minuscule shadows but what […]
[A dialogue of self and houseplants] I: I gave all the orchids away too intolerant of their constant demands Phalaenopsis, Cymbidium: We were victims of your inconsistency– a season of doting and then, the droughts I: I bought small cacti to replace them trading bristles and spines for fragile delicacy Escobaria vivipara: And yet you’ve only just noticed that our flowers are fake– dried crimson hot-glued in place for shame I: And the lovely jade […]
It’s beautiful so beautiful but it isn’t a friend. Turquoise in the shallows hints at depth or deception. There’s always a way through even if this isn’t it. These rills these standing eddies like words spoken without a tongue unknowable yet understandable once you know half of it is wind and the landscapes underwater is most of the other what remains after that is equal parts beauty and fear.
I take it back what I said about relief these nights still have teeth and the last stretch of lilac sky between ink-limbed trees seems farther than reasonable peaceful yes it’s leaving after all
No pound of flesh now but a pound of breaths to be repaid ruthlessly unreasonably but legally– . peculiar to lose so much sleep expend so much grief over something intangible pixeled numbers in an online ledger here and gone quick as that no action required . I think I might prefer the pound of flesh at least it can put up a fight (or flight) . numbers circle my head like dizzy cartoon birds […]
Morning breaks like a rare china plate with guilt and marvel at what cannot be undone something that was years in the making and was years in the saving is now only was the sun spills out its golds and pinks recklessly it fills the freeway softens suburbs honeys mountains but only for a minute or two and then it’s only daylight and business as usual
Loathe to return from the sun-lit ledge the valley below still shadowed by peaks and cutting across it a dream of a lake voiceless for a while we didn’t even speak just felt the warmth of sun the chill of wind attuned and not attenuated Emily’s right the soul has its moments bandaged escaped retaken– all the way down it felt like shackles the hours closing in again appallingly close so terribly still
An owl in the backyard or a dreamed-up owl it’s late and these empty hours tend to get filled one way or another
Strange to say a starless night they’re all still up there god bear ladle monster man daughter strange to think they also live and die collapsing inward exploding out terribly constant in middle age (and strange how none go quite the same) and how we think we know them having given them names still wishing upon them strange how empty a place space is how far away these sparks the speed of light not speedy […]
I guess it’s too late to live on a farm. As if I could buy a house! Let alone land. A place of my own– is what my friend sighed, our someday dream, our loftiest goal. Today again I paid to learn, watching refugees sit and wait for their bus, and asked the doctor what the term really means– she couldn’t say exact qualifications, just that for some recognized reason, a person had to leave […]
OPTIONAL POETRY 