summer of the painting

i want to live in a

light house.

 

it’s

time.

 

these wrinkles

and lines need

 

something to open

and close

 

with a light

inside.

 

you have the

gift.

 

you are starting

to believe it.

 

you are starting to

love your self

 

to

pieces:

 

a solitary wing

with its lantern

 

pair flapping in the

distance;

 

a flickering

cyclops

 

watching

the seasons;

 

a window;

a wind—

 

to speak through

and in and on

 

and on

and anon.

anselm-kiefer-wolundlied-1982

Song of the Wayland, Anselm Kiefer

 

 

staying

Jean-Avenidas.-Sea-Glass

i stepped into an apartment once,
the basement apartment of a poet;

i could smell it in the cedar,
in the ink and terracotta.

i wanted to stay until she came back;
i wanted to know her, be in her

circle, trace her curves as she
spun her words from the earth.

too small, my friend said—
this apartment is too small.

i left with an ache that
stayed with me for days.

on my way out i touched a green
stone on a shelf by the door:

it may have been sea glass,
it may have been my birth stone,

it may have been my
birth right to say

i’m staying.


Art: Sea Glass by Jean Avenidas

the valve of the unvitiated moment

valve

she knows that this is a floating

time on a floating ship, that she is

the floating, not the ship, nor the

captain, and that every thing outside of

 

time and space is the static pulled

taut across seas that hangs gray

garments in place and occasionally

dances and sings and means; in the valve

 

of the unvitiated moment she sees

the delicate moving of a good and

gentle quiet, like the breath of moth

wings against a hungry breeze.