Decemeber 20
the street ended in a cloud as did the day a damp forest lot made softer by mist some of it rain and some of it a gift a slip of the ephemeral given up by the earth
All posts tagged: creative
September 17
The spiderwebs are all that is holding this together everywhere now in these odd days that exist between summer and fall the same stale heat or frost at dawn the sun ceding more readily the punch hole moon the geometries of birdflight anything could happen when did that become a threat?
February 28
Slow dawn over the bridge a dark gray sky that dreams of other colors, softly, dully, mirrored in the window panes of flat-faced houses perched on hills that descend precipitously into the lake, so still this morning, no trace of movement, no speedboat wake, no curl of smoke, nothing to indicate life save the houselights, so warm and abstract at this distance— the bridge span then extends into a tunnel clear passage that obscures the […]
June 15
we took a vow of silence but it was anything but silent rivulets of water and thunder at the base of the falls— we tried to find stillness but it was anything but still filigree alder leaves flashing in the breeze the slow sway of pines and so we abandoned absolutes in lieu of ablution the staggering coldness of the river glacier-fed my heart beating again
June 9
can’t see the bay but there’s a river in the sky the world has gone gray without distinctions the ground slick with water the air thick with water traffic ground to a halt ribbons of cars suspended in motion above nothing a bridge is a structure or something that makes a connection this is an assumption and we’re getting nowhere fast
June 7
When does desire turn into greed what is an appropriate allotment of want unseasonably muggy in this forest water has cut a deep ravine beneath cedar boughs through carpets of moss it funnels and pools below perfunctory logs and drops again resisting direction this is the work it cannot be worked at I know this well and yet
June 6
a great displacement by such a small bird mostly beak and jewel-hued neck— all other motion stagnant below his arcs craning to look we are too late he rifles each page of the evening sky etches out some new invisible rune cleaves air from air we duck again as chunks of it come crashing down
June 5
The heart is not here, it can not, will not, be here— in all this rain, more than we’ve seen in several years. A rabbit darts through the overgrown lawn, now gone to seed, each blade a reproach. What hasn’t been done, what can not, will not. A sparrow ascends, becomes untethered. Motion is sometimes but not always distraction. The clouds oppress but containing is what breaks you. In their garden beds the radishes crack.
May 20
To wound the heart is to create it I felt it flit across the back of my hand before I saw it a fleeting shadow a large spider already gone before the stomach drop the untaught unease I saw another stationed on the orchid’s leathery leaf another where the garden abuts the foundation another tracing the fall line of the shower I leave them alone now some say age make you less tolerant […]
May 16
not everyone does evil, but everyone stands accused in the morning a dead spider curled up and dried out in a grave of sunlight and dust still small against the floorboards still mostly legs and still a bit off-putting but less without the menace of motion agency is what we fear the most
OPTIONAL POETRY 