Word Creation / Create with words: December 2013

Word Creation / Create with words: December 2013

Word Creation / Create with words: December 2013

Once, out on the water in the clear, early nineteenth-century twilight, you asked time to suspend its flight. If wishes could beget more than sobs, that would be my wish for you, my darling, my angel. But other principles prevail in this glum haven, do not they? If that's what it is.

Then the wind fell from its own accord.
The season stood motionless, alert. How still the drop was on the burr I know not. I come all packaged and serene, yet I keep losing things.

I wonder about Australia. Is it anything about Canada?
Do the pigeons flutter? Is there a strangeness there, to complete the one in me? Or should I relearn my filing system?
Can we trust others to indicate us? Who sees us only in the evening rush hour,
and never stop to think? O, I was so bright about you,
my songbird, once. Now, cattails immolated in the frozen swamp are about all I have time for.
The days are so polarized. Yet time itself is off center.
At least that's how it feels to me.

I know it as well as the streets in the map of my imagined
industrial city. But it has its own way of slipping past.
There was never any fullness that was going to be;
you waited in line for things, and the stained light was impenitent. 'Spiky' was one adjective that came to mind,

yet for all its raised or lower levels I approach this channel. There was pipe smoke
in cafes, and outside the great ashen bird
streamed from lettered display windows, and waited for a little way off. Another chance. It never became a gesture.

From where it looks at me,

The bird at the edge of the pond. figure

I'm not sure what to do, but I do not know what to do. > to recognize each other distant and untouched


in the memory of that evening, yet it is

there without being there; its lightness is a key

taking it from one world to the next

with no thickets, chance of indecisions,

You launch, morning broom,

the day with your prayer.

Monk in supplication from the bottom, move you trace on

the sidewalk you bring me

back to the world, you bring me

and the now. I can now restart,

From where he looks at me, / undecipherable challenge, /

the bird on the bank of the pond. //

In the volatile fixity of his picture / I am that drop that will catch his beak, / am the exact moment / in which two worlds are

they find / to be recognized distant

untouched, / only seemingly united

under one protection and ally heaven itself. //

It seems eternal its image, / carved in the memory of that afternoon, / but it is not:

its lightness is key / that it it leads from a world to

other / without thickness, chance of indecision, /

in the clean air of his sonorous will.

Inauguration, morning broom, / day with your

prayer. // Monk in prayer from below, /

In every movement / that you trace on the sidewalk /

You return the world to me, p>

the north and the now. // I can restart, /

again intact.

From Change Sky , UAM / Verdehalago. You can find more BLP poems here.

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