[no
title fits]
a couple days go away and come back spent
a
tree sees itself in a mirror of clear air
water
bark, leaves never still enough to image
by
the time the clouds get into the soil
new
clouds appear, or the same clouds
gone
behind my back, sliding up
an
unseen thermal escalator
the
horizon too big a bowl to ever fill—
would
it like to? tempting enough as is
for
any passing wind hand to sample and thin
world
restocking at night, prices changing with the supply
exhalations
and packaging reappearing in warehouses
afloat
in spheres of gravity and fit
i
picture my root system tendrillng from the basement ceiling
my
flowers came after the bees, I hear fruit going the other way
Even
Almost Winter
sunlight and wind’s seasonal alliance
wind
clearing the decks, unmuffled & ruffling
shuffling
the loose, whether air- or earth-borne
invisible
swirling, potential until entered
in
this wide a flow no need for memory, landmarks
what
won’t get out of the way is gone around
the
wind is never silent, plants and others hear the light
but
not me
i
curtain the sun to impede the wind
the
necessary imperfection of my walls and windows
as
a small percentage of my breathing
doesn’t
go through mouth or nose
as
being completely covered leads to several panics
when
i leave the body behind, like a filament
my
aura an inert gas incandescing
in
unauthorized wavelengths
as
in winter, wind tithing therms, raising the value
of
insulation, the risk of going out into the elements
too
simple to number, difficult to get beneath the skin
of
sunlight or wind, too easy for my skin to itch
or
surrender, to demand another layer of interference
Sampling
Autumn
I want the cold to diminish but it’s september 22
equilibrium
receding, while my personal orbit
has
been hobbled, made more dependent,
a
debt to inertia, to injury
one
window rises while another sets
I
could only watch September
with
rain waiting til I can get out in it
navigating
among bright thirsty colours
storm
clouds taking a short cut
ocean’s
rebels evaporating in search of new experience
how
to swim without water, to hover while touching ground
a
temporary agreement on which way is forward
and
what that means, traversing a long hall
with
only two doors at the moment, gaps in walls
mirrored
paper, distant traffic beneath my feet
dressing
in layers is pragmatic and shallow
I’m
naked but have pockets, shoulders like those
of
a road less travelled, an excuse only needed
to
keep imagination nimble
some
things that can only be seen peripherally
that
part of the eye adapted for another where and when
different
recipes for energy and matter, a body
barely
closer than tangential
days
distract me from weeks
easier
to guess the month than the year
so
much of the world at speeds not mine
vast
highways I can’t see or hear
but
newton’s law of conservation of momentum
means
increased inertia for most of us
Stars
Without Flowers
other
natures, other bottoms and tops
doesn’t
matter what goes where, rolling to the outside
when
there’s no sky follow the pipes until gravity
rolling
in the rushes, keeping pace with the pedals
more
than slomentum, measured in neither time
or distance
maybe
heartbeats, learning to dance with a collisive music,
bounce
but don’t bend, an elastic form of calcium
a
powder so hungry for air
some
hours my body will only make 90 degree turns
shadows
nothing rounded, but when the light source is inside
blaring
through the transparent parts of my skin, cells removed for punctuation
turning
air into water, it’s the beach rippling not the ocean
so
much rippling across the floor we might
break into disproportionate trinities
disassembly
lines, unwoven from the whole cloth
two
for the price of yesterday, a hunger that starts with a scent
just
before the place closes, inside the building inside the building
where
it started like a peach pit where rivers thin as hairs
and
no longer than I can jump, a fractional but thorough cleansing,
more
like editing, changing states without added
energy, pull and yield,
spiral
and scatter, clouds reflecting in the weeks-dry sidewalk
if
we’d let ourselves burst into song occasionally, whether watchers
or
not, always room for a couple dance steps and arms flung wide
not
just to welcome but also radiate, on the spectrum but the invisible part
knowing
the second half of the puzzle, some clues have to wait for another day
we
went from Taco Tuesday to What’s This Wednesday
I
brought a spoon in case of ice cream, drifting among several beings
taller
than me, walls not sure how long they can pretend
eventually
something leans or trips into
confident
of a doorway no one minds me walking through
though
someone’s watching my hands, one palm about to ring
the
wind wants my hair to think it’s behind me
more
than a curb I’m stepping off
certain
there can’t be stars without flowers
by Dan Raphael
Great stuff, Dan
ReplyDelete