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

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

beginning with the palest pale

Not long ago you sent me photographs of the palest pale
and for weeks I was awash in the colour of muted understanding.

Years ago we opened up and shed our clothes
right in the bold front yard, a summer's rain

and nothing else existed, not history, not shyness,
nor the neighbours shielded behind the draperies pulling cords,

and years before that alone on a trail I touched my naked collarbone
and a hawk traced the blank sky in fine sweeps, searching,

while you pressed babies into the invisible mesh of me, semen like sardines,
miles away in another country, musked and snarled with the forest floor.

Lying together on cold stones plentiful enough to become a single body
the waves find the shore, or the shore tells the waves when to rest;

it doesn't matter who is who.

Far out in the mists of the horizon shapes rise and fall,
the world takes and loses form.


  1. Far away and long ago,one touches another and life stretches beyond that moment becoming a constant ebb and flow, tides and seasons.

  2. yes, rosaria, love is love is love is love)))


  3. Erin,
    i forgot your presence on my blog cause i m very busy now.
    Thans to you to forgot my opinion tonight cause i m very tired. I sleeping just 3 hours on the last night; i suppose that you understanding.
    I Keep your regards on the next section. THANKS;

    1. jorge, i don't go there so that you might come here:) don't ever worry if you are busy. i go to your blog, to your photographs, because i am greedy and they feed me.


  4. What is the shape in the water? We humanly want to know, to distinguish. Then we remember that love makes us one. The ebb and flow does not happen naturally, I find. I have to push back, and back, and back to nothing else exists.

    1. ruth, it is a log. so foolishly we want to know, feel we need to. but what is it to know? it is more when we don't know, isn't it? potentially it is any/everything. now it is only a log. (i would want to know too:)

      i begin to push further and further outward, letting go of definition and know all love as the one love.

      when i was recently divorced from my first husband, in fact (i just realize this now), after the very first day of meeting, touching and kissing james, i laid in bed with my daughter in her father's house. his bedroom door was open. we all slept like this, not far away from one another, my son down the hall. my ex-husband, andrew, slept beside who is now is current wife, was once his highschool lover. (we were married in between their loving.) in the morning i awoke in bed beside my daughter. i still smelled of james or felt that i could smell him. across the hall and in his bed my ex-husband, andrew, awoke and touched the cheek of the woman beside him, kissed her. i knew then like an arrow through me that life was very complicated and that i was so very happy for him (them) and that when i did love him it was the same as he loving her and she loving him. we don't get along so well now. that is a bit of a tragedy. love is love)))))


  5. That last line is a keeper. What I love about this is the way the illusion of unity leads us to an actual understanding that unity exists.

    1. william, i like how you put this, the illusion of unity.

      for the record the experiences were all mine, except the conception which was between james and his wife, but somehow become mine also in our loving, although i take nothing from them. they made gorgeous children and incredible love.

      there are no walls. there is no ownership.


  6. Replies
    1. roxana, and the beautiful photos from you fall over my mind like breath. they are yours and not yours and all of ours. how you are in the world, the specific embodiment you are is an intoxication that sobers one enough to see truth.


  7. Your shining words first...secondly, I saw a diamond on a silky surface...then slowly the trees appeared, then water and illumination. There's the world, then the world's reflection and those worlds we can't see under the water and behind the clouds...such a metaphor!! Makes me think of a poem, of course. ;-) xoxo

    God's World
    By Edna St. Vincent Millay

    O WORLD, I cannot hold thee close enough!
    Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!
    Thy mists that roll and rise!
    Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag
    And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag
    To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff!
    World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!

    Long have I known a glory in it all,
    But never knew I this;
    Here such a passion is
    As stretcheth me apart. Lord, I do fear
    Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year.
    My soul is all but out of me,—let fall
    No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.


"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))