"She wasn’t doing a thing that I could see, except standing there, leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together."
Thus, Speak the Chromograph by Eleni Sikélianòs
Saying: One night in a cloud chamber
I discovered a thing: that a thing (I used to have a crown
of light) a thing could be more
than True, and more again
than False, a thing
could carry its name
with a ticket of lights
called Possible: In a cloud chamber, particles are betrayed
by movement and water vapors
leave trails. Discovered: when matter and its antithesis come
together, a disappearing
flash of light: (our share of night to
ear) (I mean what I say): In contempt
of the Law of All
Excluded Thirds: laws are not
symmetrical in the forward and the back
(of time). On which side
are they stacked? and the sky also
(is what made Hart Crane
so crazy in the heart) continued to pile up
clouds without account, a mass of gasses with nothing
scribbled under them; a song in the middle
of the crystal
cavatina. We hardly had any bones then. Did
Hart Crane have bones? If so, which kind? AndD
run toward the sea)
"Don’t worry, Renée, I won’t commit suicide and I won’t burn a thing.
Because from now on, for you, I’ll be searching for those moments of always within a never.
Beauty, in this world."
Where You Are by Mark Doty
I thought I’d lost you. But you said I’m imbued
in the fabric of things, the way
that wax lost from batik shapes
the pattern where the dye won’t take.
I make the space around you,
and so allow you shape. And always
you’ll feel the traces of that wax
soaked far into the weave:
the air around your gestures,
the silence after you speak.
That’s me, the slight wind between
your hand and what you’re reaching for;
chair and paper, book or cup:
that close, where I am: between
where breath ends, air starts.
thanks andy for this.
poetrys´ been floating heavily lately, landmarking september.