Within a few days, I've heard from people long silent, some basically for years. One wants me to come to a film festival Miami over the weekend. It is another's birthday. I get calls from those who have moved, people I haven't talked to for months. All about town, flowers are in bloom. Birds go mad with song. My spirit of adventure is awakened. I plan trips, change routines, have hope.
I send emails back immediately, but the line is dead. Silence. They all fall back into the void. Something must have happened, some arrangement of the stars, some planetary convergence.
I will not be dissuaded. Maps challenge the imagination. I have changed if nothing else. I am heartened.
something i've been working on ... well sort of for at least a year. okay so not really working on it just sort of looking at it.
ReplyDeleteMapping
1.
Leaving port
our three masted ship wafts lullabies
and the corner carousel spins
to a perfect C ringing
like ribbons of cherub laughter.
The creek ice sits thin on top of things --
from underneath flocks of birds drunk
on sunlight leached from the pale sky
carol a song ---
the refrain buckles us
and this is not Then but happening;
where a lover becomes king of the world
and Jesus joins the picket lines
where mullato babies can't be sold
for money turned into white powder.
Lost and following frozen breadcrumbs
the woven cord scrapes our palms
while it unravels
2.
The masts fold slowly inward
the nightsongs unsing themselves --
form an unholy wrinkle
on the dome's smooth plane
and what is left stings
the eyes of the children left standing
on the reeded shore
their toes sunk in warm sand
where grass blades wet and bent
compete with twisted moonbeams
held in their small hands
for what is left of a distant reflection.
Mica flakes the air
and flower-juice stains their cheeks.
A white owl's low incantation
shakes the branches
awakening Mab
who runs her chariot
over drowsy heads
while Mercutio's' shadow dangles
from an unbreakable limb.
He's laughing at their lust
that Love
fractal
the flashing water
the ship's prow breaking forward--
in the headlands, laughter, a girl
presses her perfumed breast
to a hopeful boy's face --whispers
a wounding language
that dances along the edges
I'm still a hopeful boy. This was a nice segue into today's post (though much more artfully written.
ReplyDeleteI like the line about maps stirring the imagination - so true.
ReplyDeleteFunny, the same thing has happened to me lately...must be something happening in the universe. Good to know it's nothing personal. The difference between you and me is that you are still heartened...I am not.
ReplyDelete