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

Monday, July 11, 2011

all around us spans the forest, larger than anything measurable


inside of this landsape one boy/man dives into a lake
another stands in the rain with his midriff shining
yet another, a boy, goes searching for a ball
lost benath the husky pine
three beats spanning generations
a wilderness of being that knows no bounds
and all time, like light, shimmers, a soft illusion

1 comment:

  1. I love the way the forest, from this distance and transmuted in this light, looks more like roiling smoke than anything else, as if substance is ready at any/every moment to sublime into vapor, into thought, into the memory of forest (and what can one know, except the memory of forest -- the memory of the boy (i mis-typed "body:-) -- when the tree in front of me is already a tree in the past by the time I have seen and processed the image?)

    how this poem aches at its heart!

    ReplyDelete

"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))