Taken |
An owl perches on a low branch. The dreamer sees the back of its
head, the roundness of its skull. White feathers peppered with amber.
Before it turns around, she disappears
into a sound, click, that lifts her toward the waking world. Camera
lucida, a pencil hits the floor? The door closing crosses her mind. Though
she steals downstairs without a sound she knows the robber has already
departed. Pigeon, sitting duck, gull. Let someone else
tangle with it. As she heads to the kitchen, coffee, she sees
a tattered postcard wafting to the floor.
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Lost |
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It takes her a while to find the bookstore again. Not till we are
completely lost do we appreciate the vastness and Now she has memorized
the street, and knows which avenues are on either side. Landmarks may or may
not help, grazing as a way of moving. In a desert sandstorm people wrap up in
cloth & wait, don’t try to find their way. Now the cashier nods at her, doesn’t
speak. If the landscape is changed by the wind they may be lost anyway.
Thoughts brush by, dolphins in indoor light. Do you select them or let them
select you. Opens a dusty book, reads where she lands. Holds her thumb to
keep the place as she walks away, head tilted to read other titles. He would
never ask what she is looking for. Is this searching or just being tossed by
wind. Her rule is: only one each time. Outside, thoughts flow in her wake,
sand in a breeze. This is not it but maybe something will come of it.
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Swimming in air– |
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it’s not as hard
as you’d think. I’m so light
I keep afloat just by treading
—though the brightness is hard
to adjust to. I didn’t know oxygen
would be so dazzling. Maybe
it’s the nitrogen
that shines, or dust particles
reflecting sunlight—
there’s dust everywhere, moving slower
than you’d believe possible—
but then, I’m also moving rather slowly
into the air, through
the air, toward whatever comes
after the air. Yes I’m sure
there’s something at the end
though I haven’t found it
and at my current pace
it may be quite some time
before I do. I like
this floating so much
I don’t want to paddle to the edge
just to peek. I think
there’s no peeking, anyway.
You’re in or you’re out.
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