Borrowed phrases, unfiltered, intertwined
(in four voices)
Choruses and reiterations … a soundscape of sensory play from our November day of writing — unsigned, as always — and a revelation — lunch!
What became of the morning’s dew? What became of a headstrong rush? What became of your silence in a window pane that lightens the room with shadows? What became of your long tall fun-loving laughter that spreads like a blanket? What became of this moment ripe with potential, replaced so quickly with despair? What became of the filter on the furnace that was hardly used? Where did it go? What became of serendipitous meetings on subway platforms or on the streets of Athens? Do they live on? I wonder. What became of the ever-changing views seen from windows on the world? They are not to be found and in their place there is space, an opening into some other domain. Watch for it; hold your gaze. What became of the friendship between sisters based in some forsaken art form, dropped in the speeding passage of our lives, in myth-making madness? When I last looked, we were forgiving one another for being ourselves. Who is to blame? * Leaves must leave if chlorophylls are to return They fall all at once, making nests for nobody Inside, a heating exhaust makes it up the hill, getting to the top and shining like a jewel. Hues and kinetics grab attention, interrupting clouds and dirt. Squirrel pathos and illusory warmth, two mourning doves dumbly gaze on...off. A fat crow shows that winter is almost here, blacks shining against early grey sky and mug. A desk full of movement and aging, answering only with questions. Wood and stone, cloth and paper. Finally flesh writing with ink and sniffles for days. It’s time for leaves to leave, if only they knew that rotting on the ground, the gutter, the shrubs was the safest place. * There’s so much for the senses to absorb, digest, reflect in word. Neverending miraculous offerings. Thoughts percolate through these four sentient beings. We return… “nature,” “abandoned cups,” “borrowed phrases,” “humorous twists and turns,” “dust” and essential “safe spaces”… Shared lovingly, playfully Intertwined, Afternoon, Sangha poems. * Yellow, green, red Soft glow at a window until The sun sends their true deep jeweled selves through My eyes and into my heart My heart is at a writer’s desk; surface of self-discipline Cat always takes the soft chair Any seat here is cozy enuff For the work of unearthing what’s inside out Outside the author’s workshop Plants impact people, even through mirrors They are always inspired by nature, especially death Which brings needed attention back toward life; ideas Ideas shout from notes, “Keep Me!” “Play w/ Me!” “Watch out!” A neighbor’s machine, ONNNNNN, off. ONNNNN, off. Takes our eyes to the window Observe the leaves leaving Where are they rushing off to? Stay. Here heat vent whispers all needs are met. Boxes of tea-pot steaming We know where things are, even the fallen hairs This is the safest place. The place people observe plants and reveal their adventures They all notice so many things I feel caught, obstructed by 90° angles Up close, no line is actually a line Nothing is straight Be impractical How my heart sings wildly Yellow! Green! Red! Beyond this desk, the author’s workshop They’ll call it crime * Old wedding photo, dying spider plant—plants in the mirror more perfect, as if more alive—out a window bare trees, gray clouds, blue sky—in spare green and gold leaves a breeze. Out another dusty window sudden brilliant sun makes jewels of faded prayer flags, yellow, green, red. Between venetian blinds a towering pine leans slightly leftward—its left not mine. The cat pole spirals sisal for deadly claws, and filling half the wall, the corner, floor to window, spring green and elephant-leaved, a pair of sprawling arrowhead, goosefoot, syngonium podophyllum (what’s in a name)? On the reading table a forgotten mug, ultramarine or lapis lazuli, color beyond words, and from under the floor, lower, the basement, a roar—the fan, herald of heat, automatic, furnace, blasting on, up, as if for someone alive in the room.
