not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Wednesday, August 17, 2016

images in water



the tree grows from the shoreline
and the trunk is thrust out upon the water

is this is a photograph of desire? if so, whose desire?
or is desire, the lustful knot, undone in this?

is this image two dimensional?

how many dimensions is desire composed of?
how many leagues deep?

the snare of bulbous roots
casts forth its image
which does not complete itself

*

images in water

my mother is sitting in her easy chair with her oxygen
making circles with her fingers along the rise of each of its arms

she used to do this at lunchtime while sitting at the table with her novels
using the long fingers on one hand to encircle her chin, as she devoured the exotic mysteries

then later, as her eyes worsened, while we talked
she'd hold one arm and encircle her other elbow

i think about being at the river and tossing in stones
the circles widening until they swallow my image as i hang over the bridge

i look a little like my mother

Friday, August 12, 2016

elegy


elegy for the easiness of an early evening

they're walking down the country gravel road
in the early evening's empty hours of    bird furls

doing nothing but kicking up    dust    and notes 
which are the silent spaces    and swirls    around the rising dirt

   the music of muteness and touching

they're bumping happily into one another
fumbling love in their hands    in their empty clodlike hands

stroking penumbras of golden light    lifting    rising    caressing
to the smote of shoulders    errant hairs    and the private folds of clothing

and there they are walking down that road
going nowhere but through that place of togetherness

holding up the last of the day's cambered light with their 
dumb ripe hearts    in love with skin that but runs together

there on that dusty road    so clearly    so painfully
never again    you and one of your own small children

Tuesday, August 9, 2016