Tuesday, April 12, 2011

323. Arcs and Tangents

under the aegis of angles & curves
how the faint spell of wires can make an ark of it
arcing over yet moving straight
& holding & holding & holding
islands together & driftless

these are the tools of our perdition & our redemption
eyes tricked by newts into believing in salamanders
& the fire for them for each of them a burning coal
eyes are blackest at night & brightly red
you can smell the ocean from there over one of its feet

a walk is a footstep followed by a footstep
what never catches up
down a street with the right sense of rhythm & beating
breath taken from the body making the body move
moving in a slow swoop through a net of streetlight

dawn as it begins as it is a blackness tinged
a variorum edition of morning & good for its being so
there’s hope in the morning in the evidence of life
body of a being & the joy of light & warmth
body of breathing & the opening eye

clatterstone rainstorm to ope it up
something big & broken in the rain
cloud rent the sky rent the cloud
the drops breaking into droplets & mist
sense of the self as a servant to the rainy veldt of sidewalks

or sun grown into a summer flower’s height & filling every hole
sun in the folds of a crease of a damp arm
under the wrap of a hat on a head & over the eyes given over to shade
heat in the intake of breath with the release of stenched crevices of a walk
sun in the head & the swelling

taken into & given over to subterraneanisms
bundled through tunnels that slip onto stilts & bridge the air
holding the light in as a breath might be to make a wish
swing on a curve’s track & plummeting through
what pours forth is you & she & he & they & we & that

pulled into the pour of rain & black braces opened up against the sky
curved around its edges the island checkered by streets
hold the head down in the rain so you do not see the sky
thinking the cubits needed for an ark to ride out forty days
rain that cleans away the earth

in a room rectangled & defined by squares
looking out a window of night square lights out into the round earth
held as a curve by the severe right angles of the doors
walking the flat floor to the flat wall
try not to look at the flat ceiling not falling down from the sky

cats as curves curving into curves the tail follows around in a quiet snap
no lines in a cat that can be straightened
small bent or curving hairs of the cat floating in the current of sunlight
cat sleeps as a comma
two cats sleep as two

if found in a bed & sleeping fetal into curving
the arc of your back in a curving sleep
out of a curvaceous dream of Moroccan arches
crumpled bend of the sheets along the bed ridge
the sweep of the head beginning awake

day that you see as an island or the end of an island tending to night
something you want to call skylight falling from blue
fist of paper on the sidewalk its four lines compressed into curves
something French about the curve of a face stepping off the curb
always within sight of everything you see

steady on the ground that is your island & at the end of it
thinking that the isle should float slowly eastward & free from steady
drifting off the curb & thinking you might step out onto only air
watching the circle of the red light turn green
read the light turning a circular green & following traffic forward

intend to extend
an arm as a series of curves through the air & bending at the elbow
the leg & its calf & its thigh & curving in a straight line
breathe through the air & a heart pumping lungs
a single monumental body of arcs in sequence & moving

every day every day every day comes as it comes
not much thought of it & most forgotten
forgiven for you to give it the shape of thinking
living under the arc of the light & learning it
within the straits of water & leaving them behind

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