What the Laggania Cambria Said,- from the Charles Doolittle Walcott Sequence
I've been waiting for you, Walcott,for you and your dynamite to pullme out of a dream I had about a mud slide,where day disappeared in roiling silt storm.I’ve been waiting for the sun’s corona, again,for a million years, for something to move.I’ve got such a pain in my spinesuch a glint in my eyes from this light.I’m so hungry for a trilobite,a worm, so thirsty for the sea.How does the weight of waterturn to stone with the press of air?Pry the rest of this slate off me with your chisel,your hammer. Go on. Tease me out of time.
Almanac of the Douglas Fir
This is me, following you up a hill, giving up on the idea of selfas one with the universe. We make two tracks here, up slope,trees curtain what’s above. I can’t tell the weatherin the Goddess’ eye. Douglas Fir. White birch. A standof random Mountain Ash. Trunks frame us. They say,this is the land of the Blackfeet, and I believe heat from their firestill burns in this grove. Ladybug. Black fly. Mosquito. Coyote.When I was a child, dream of rabbit, dream of bear. Today,I find you in the parking lot. It isn’t a conspiracy. It’s the lieyou told yourself that I see into, unbend. It’s a memory of water,the caress of the current, the frog in the creek outside my windowtapping Morse code. You slid into me, a Mobius strip, until the endand beginning meld into one. Two sides one. On the trail, I foundbottles, trees, stones. What else have I to declare? Just a river,running at the speed of my blood. A red squirrelhas taken flight, but now, it is a hummingbird.
Before the Dark
Its penciled pages a Rosetta stone
a daughter forgets her diary.Home from school todaythe little book calls to me.Holds the language of the other.On the cover, Sun breaks the spell:A mother must set herself beyonddesire for secrets, beyond the thrillof necessary gravity between them, like planets.Sun must slink darkward before the clocktells a story that begins with the words,a mother has betrayed her child, her lock.