Two calla lilies

In-white glancing

In-white glancing

Space, open. There vectors in prism’d morning

still traffic,  gull cries, child’s slide, a milk-white

skate. I went down to the car, saw

the black oily sea up, colors

previously unregistered... sequence surround(s).... Back

into the book office; mountain

viole(n)t figures, into the purest air,

life, surprisingly, a train and rail

screech, slowed, skidded, stopped.

Taking hands, the avenues walk us around

the most remote and intricate.

Stems merge every color, bright

cup, carpet, parquet ship—

Flower white negative....

 

22 December 2006; revised 1 January 2007; published in Zone

work-in-progress (detail)

somewhat
too dark ......... (and too small--try again later!)

News networks

News networks

The television as an eye, a cyclops....

The crew sits on the sofa.

Where is the camera?

You see your hands, your knees.

Are you balding? With a bad spinal column?

The margins of the poem filter live film,

a slick, all process and information,

ripped and redone for processing and informing.

The crew now sits on the end table.

Food is ordered in, chips

and chip dip, snails....

Passeig d'Itaca

Passeig d’Itaca

To the camera, fronted or fonted in

monadic exhaustion. It is time, not space,

the backward-turning ear seeks. And

all Barceloneta is impossible. But our eyes

found a hearing in sight

of the rocking, yawing boats,

the sunlight glancing off the water.

Two short diary pieces--2001

18 August 2001. On the Rabat-Fes train about an hour and a half from our destination the countryside reminds me of Aragon or Castile. There are olive plantations and long expanses of dry rolling fields. The same sort of wild cane and willows grow along the little creek here, but agave is more prevalent. An occasional pair of royal palms. The plowed up harvested hay fields vary in color, gray, brown or red. They stack the rectangular bales up in the form of a small house with a hip roof. Grazing sheep. In the watered areas maize grows and you might see half a dozen holsteins or black angus. Herds of sheep mixed with goats graze in the hay stubble.

22 August 2001. Leaving Chauen. Prickly pear and agave on the roadside. Olive plantations or scattered olive trees dotting rolling dry fields otherwise covered in scrubland, which includes a dwarfed palmetto. Tobacco in white flowering bloom. Wild cane. And the mountains in the distance enclosing the whole. Overcast slowly but surely penetrated by the sunshine. Oleanders grow wild in and alongside the rivers & creeks.

Approximations

Hat strings

Convergences

swan

swan

space time

refilling place

riverweed dusk morn

the black-and-white

swan trails the eye along

in its graceful movements

calligraphy

maple tree and small birds

maple tree and small birds

a blue bird’s honed flight

fall’s quick fire wakes the eye—

red maple leaves

June nigh

June nigh, 2013

Some ballpoints, a pencil, the laptop battery lie on the table.

You lock up against more than flood waters.

Wait of word wait of meaning. The lime tree flowers scent the streets.

Here a jazzy drum rhythm begins, light, steady, something you can’t not want.

What do you want. The dipper stares down at me as I stand on the balcony.

Seven or eight ice cubes. And Cezanne’s clock without hands.

Some simultaneity. Like summer, the table.