not having spoken for along while flood of words in mind
recedes to leave pure colour
that night the northern lights: green evergreens
black along the side of the highway. Silence that can sing a song
whose echoes can be heard from far
away as here
to make a record of the season
precipitate decisions on the page
headlight rhythms or the all-time high for this date
early winter rains get into clothes and won't go
"least I don't have to shovel this stuff"
says the wide-eyed taxicab driver
as he arrives. As he arrives he leaves falling
water on coat sleeves sounds of no thing & resounds. She plays
the electric bass to a smiling Jesus who cannot be seen. Sings loudly
or softly into a microphone rejoicing. A weightless grace is on the room
traces the line level hum
surface texts & textures / pine bark paper birch road dirt
diffuse day automotive yawn disremembered elder hwys. 16 & 97
telephone poles: numberless
gutter disperses all drops down into the drainage as the lungs
heave & ask what can be expected
disappearing takes children out of no field here is where you
imagine the nearby park Carrie Jane Gray perhaps
transparencies scatter light very little
over time over time over time over time
the law came to me
in a dream I answered (then was answerable--
"you love me" I can't feel so cold
until until. "I am in love with you" interminable moments.
Raked leaves together in my yard
the pattern the veins the words
teleological text seasonal narrative not to be repeated
except as fractal mis en abyme
photograph croons into a microphone
listen
holds musical housekeys
jingling in the pockets
sees a man return to the river
and not return
lower pressure above us: continuous
inhalation / exhalation exchange changing
channels and rivulets exhaust clouds / forms cloud
naked without a clear mirror; fog breathing
forget nothing draw parallels face up
shower in the dark of winter being
born
when you are gone you will smile. I will
sing circularity feedback / ground loop sonic fire
here is a fadeout movie. Now walk into a snow-covered
parking lot a fadeout movie. Now walk in
two dissolving frames burn in the projector
beam cry if you want to cry. I laugh and cry
to a snow
parking lot. The downtown buildings need rustproof paint.
You are not gone. You are happy. You are
starting to see the frames become ashes and still
know the names of streets of trees
I hold hands with you & see the projector
want to tell you about the movie but when
will there be time for us talking?
March 29, 2005
transparencies by Jeremy Stewart
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