And here I am, againseeking the simplest solace the flicker of pinkin an underwing don’t know if you saw itwhich tips me over again, the elegant branchingof a dormant magnolia like alveoli againstthe darkening sky but too brittlefor breath, also but this illusionof inertia is beguilingfor once flight seems franticor perhaps just out of reachto stay rooted exactly here without even the weightof a thought of returning no movement no reckoningthat might be fine
On the other side of the pass it doesn’t flatten out exactly but without the trees the horizon appears everywhere lines of demarcation and a sense of expansiveness doing laps in our skinny skis we heard coyotes yap in the distance and the sun it set just a little bit later
More rain, and drowsy expectation— soon, something will happen, plans have been made, action will be taken, just not yet— the world outside remains discrete, drops on the glass each a microcosm of its own
We missed the countdown a TV delay screaming outside and the belated realization a ten second handicap on eating our grapes
The theme today was down the staircase the network gravity as a prelude to entropy fragments the corallary more but less orderly the IT department not answering the phone finally I left up the stairs that earlier proved elusive bruises like galaxies in hazy expansion sharp departures from the orderly unrecoverable and accelerating
More doors are closed now in the hospital patients sequestered behind glass scrawled on with O2 sats a menagerie of respiratory failure such an artificial habitat- beyond the windows the mountain is out austere white margins suspended above the horizon by unlit foothills what a sunrise today– everyone was talking about it neon pink as the surgical masks our buyer found somewhere although with each minute the blockprint fades into just a day like any […]
This morning however is unexceptional muffled gray hardly a birdcall just some souped-up car passing at a distance and all the racket of an otherwise silent house—- mysterious humming and draining that never gets noticed or questioned—- the subtle menace of the benign
Another bright day clear and cold as the sunlight is warm— Not to be begrudge this reciprocity or any— I get giddy climbing these impossible hills fully blinded, imbued by this particular winter sun, always coming in at high unexpected angles and intervals, falling in bars or like some ornate curtain to make any scene pastoral— orderly, quiet, serene, immutable— if only for a few hours, still, more than acceptable
The promised rain has been detained the day is just still with little anticipation for such a non-event, and one that arrives so innocuously— the thinking that nothing much will change in a mild spring rain by a veil of drops but of course it will— everything is touched, the sidewalk’s sheen, the gingko’s green, the clipped walking pace of the few passerbys outside the window, distant and distant, twice removed— the rain fills the […]
A gap between gingko leaves suggests a bird— between real things impressions, for better or for worse— what makes space negative? Is it the color of the sky, what is defined, or what falls behind, and is it intentional?
OPTIONAL POETRY 