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Archive for the ‘stories’ Category

june cloudy after rain evening
red red geraniums
kiss’t by hummingbird’s
beak
unseen wings beating
in time

beyond belief

my footfalls on the poach
send him
flashing figure eights
iridescent bottle green
around the yard

i turn my key

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february morning

sunday rain
a week’s worth
of snow
unfixed
loosened and
unleashed
waves of
washing water

 

i get wet

 

Saturday march 12 2011

9:30 am
day-light savings time’s
overcast belies
a higher angle
unseen sun’s occluded
brightness

hope of oncoming spring

I see blue crocus in winter’s leavings

life renewed

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red light rain
late winter afternoon gray
me feeling
drained from the day

i remember
last evening
my house
our attentions aligned
your gift
bottle of red zinfandel wine
green olives
white cheese
tasted
together

now knowing
alone
our
unraveled edges need
constraining
head and heart
patient
restraining

taking time
for
convalescence’s
cure

shifting on green
world through a scrim
rain and remembrance
image of our parting embrace

what is it like
for you

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my mother’s needles
hold memories
her
now two years passed on
i learn to purl

under over
knit  purl
i move these knots
casting on and off in patterns newly understood
imagined

staying up late
stitching
fabricating
inheriting yarns

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invited to the waltz
stopped in my tracks by doubt
unused to these shoes

i don’t remember where
to put my hands
or how to dance

how do i recall
what seems completely new

guide me by texture
double-breasted wool suit
pressed
lightly into silk blouse
high heels
now knowingly glide

room rounds as
we
others
tables dishes napkins glasses bottles
chairs coats handbags
all
musicians singers performers

flow
one living thing
under the
tent
in the warm electric night

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Time for reflection.

Ultimately – or at the limit – in order to see a photograph well, it is best to look away or close your eyes. ‘The necessary condition for an image is sight,’ Janouch told Kafka; and Kafka smiled and replied: ‘We photograph things in order to drive them out of our minds. My stories are a way of shutting my eyes.’ (Roland Barthes: Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography)

I love this post… do I write, and make art in order to forget – to clear my mind? Am I driven to share in order to forget?

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overhead
hot suns in endless space are just

cold white points

 

here

faceted ice
crystals
frozen snow

refracting  stars – New Year’s night’s potential

 

lies

infinity
at my feet

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