A Long Perspective

Tag: love

  • Every living thing

    Every living thing.

  • Wing-Beat in the Grand Canyon of the Colorado

    Starry Night, Van Gogh

    You have said your good-byes like prayers,

    used to the words on your lips;

    your child has the shape of your eyes,

    but the shade of resemblance dances away.

     

    Remember the river at dawn,

    flowing between the canyon walls

    as the mallards flew swiftly before you

    scouting the unseen curves in the channel,

    their wing-beats counting down the miles?

     

    The cliffs above you climb beyond seeing,

    the water fast past the boulders,

    the rapids seize you, twist you,

    pin you against the rocks then let you free.

     

    In the pressure of the current,

    there is no turning back.

    The ravens struggle across the river against the wind,

    the cliffs the color of the bead

    of blood that glitters from a wound.

     

    You feel the shape of the canyon in your body,

    the ocean abandoning the inland, again and again,

    the continents shifting on their hidden tracks,

    as you dream of separation.

     

    Gather up what you know,

    as the weather turns to rain,

    the mallards have disappeared into the light

    and, now,

    you emerge from the canyon alone.

     

    FEWalls

  • Prism

    IMG_0209_1The glittering water pulses with rainbows,

    tosses off colors, swirling, a flutterance –

    no thought of loss or want or farewell,

    brilliance for a shilling or a dime or naught

    gathering the colors up again to shrug them off,

    twirling into the garden.

     

    Come back! See!

    The crows screech in the firs,

    the raccoons sleep in the fennel

    leaving the leaves tamped down,

    smelling of licorice.

     

    Silently, the crocuses raise their heads,

    clumps of purple, thin leaves arching,

    then, too soon, they fade into the soil.

     

    The bird bath stutters in the wind and rain.

    The waves lapping and overlapping,

    casting off colors with abandon,

    casting off the past,

    casting off you.

     

    FEWalls

  • Communal Life

    The cherry trees shake out their fullness
    the buds all in bloom now
    absorbing the sound of the blue day.

    The photographer must be quick
    as he leans over his camera on the tripod,
    already the lick of green shoots from the tip of the branches,
    the pavement scattered with petals.

    The trees so laden some dip
    almost to the hyacinths,
    yellow and ivory.

    The cats sun themselves in the grass;
    the dogs prance by their owners,
    the lichen covers the gnarled trunks.

    This long tradition on 33rd street,
    the avenue shimmering in pink ,
    so brief,
    so needed.

    FEWalls March 31, 2014