local nova drafts » das Gewicht eines fossilen Veränderungen über die Zeit

A.

1.

From an Amtrak window
I could unleash molecular trade winds in reeds
With the brush of a hand

Where two halves of an egret oppose each other, laughter;
This small space with clack and bone, of trying, of sorrow;
A bead of pond water smeared with blush ran down
Onto the collar of a Perseid blouse. The bird watcher,
The body dripped iron-rich cells from a sharp tip,
Floating

2.

Where am I standing when I hear the spigot turn on?
To drain this pond–
Where will the apple be shot, where against a wooden fence
Will a broad brush paint red into knot holes–
Where will the bandages be kept in another house,
What if they are out–

3.

When the silhouette’s molars return, aching
At seven o’clock; when flames overtake
The driest reeds; when the stomach turns inside out
During free fall; when spit lands on pavement,
When you notice my eyes grown more dim
Looking down at you, my hands the same–

4.

Outcome is amoeba.
Trying is terrestrial; all the tools made by indigenous flesh.
I want to see you make plywood with your own bare hands and steam.
Build a simple casket, build a bird feeder,
Build a box for mason bees, build a trap
For capturing motion at seven o’clock
That runs from the bedroom door

5.

Enter a living room from the back: they are having a viewing.
There is a finely dressed body in a crib. A plywood crib,
Adult-sized. There is crushed pomegranate
And bread and a butter knife.
Several grandchildren are playing with frogs.
There drifts friction of hands rubbing wood grain
Outside the window. And there drifts a body
On its buoyancy; there drift seasonal laborers towards an escalator,
There drift soap stains down a shower drain,
There cools a subtle moon

B.

And if the casket was made from gold,
Bury it in the Negev; sleep with a bedside hammer
From now until then–
Bury it in the Negev; bury it with every last molar.
Bury it deep in the sands of the Negev

« Alder Town    Montevideo »