The Quarry Implied by the Monument
In this weather: allthe leafless ampersandsline the boardwalkbeneath a pewter sky.Boughs of blackbirds keenuselessly.The monumentality of thissadness whose hold oncelessened unto almost nothingduring the day. Believing itreal then only at night—the force of thathalf-light through the curtains.And the wind,the sound of it, stirring—
Idyll
In the corner of my unquiet, there’s a loom.Behind the loom, undoing.Let us focus then on the loom.The tapestry is a kind of omen.Materials are obviously important.In the absence of a proper skein, I’malso a fan of vinyl and featherintertwined to form a dooropening onto a fieldwhere the saffron is symbolic.The field is probably a plain.Nein, a meadow.See, for example, the lark and the lily.Watch the hands at work on the herringbone.They seem to know exactly what to do, weavingfilament and wisteria into a scene-all very pastoral, unlikely.There’s not one poplar in sight.There’s no dread.In the corner of the loom, I can see the future,a face almostfully-formed. There,beneath the pear tree in the arbor,you’ve never seen anything so beautiful.