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Monologues of white interiors
time-dried of water and wind
crowds gather in history’s emptiness
weightless in the hollows of memory
description without witness
so long ago lost.
From Writing the Silences (University of California Press, 2010) by Richard O. Moore. Copyright © 2010 by the Regents of the University of California. Used with permission of University of California Press Books.
Past years are figures in old glass
wobbly in a lake
wrinkled by a stone.
The lake will settle down
a face will reappear
in a scent of evergreen.
Incised in concrete
knife-edged shadow
frond a perfect
arrest of clarity
a palm frond arrow
from a declining sun
shadow and light
lust of epiphany
the illusion that walks
with me on concrete
An available palette thickened by air words I hold and so fast lose. A thunder so low an inaudible present its slow cycles place me shaking in its throat. Stare and beauty opens like a work of fire a made thing a connection must be made. This is to say necessity is a place made all of stares come beauty come the final ruin of the world. Stop : for what it may be or was a burned-in-after-flash of fire over distance measured light years. The glamour of it all.