Monday, January 21, 2008

My Chance

~ after Loren Connors' *As Roses Bow*

Where did anything come
from that it must all fall
down and float and rise

uncovered the strings wh
ere you put them plucked
in the air anywhere we are

not and sometimes abrupt
ly stopping for what did air
stop for what did it pass

into evening or blacker suns
wake recent things the human
voice is not even there

when it is memory is the
memory of every recurrence
for which strings circle

roses in animal grace
the perfect obedience in every
thing you chose not to do

the air impulsively you
did not put here sensing
what opens out there.

Nothing disappearing
disappears my heart
yours plays any way
it wishes floats up from

such things the meaning
of it all in our timing
a tangle degrees don't scare
easily not afraid of thin

air the inside in this ether
pulled out the other end
of the song nothing
appearing appears again

to stop to flutter heart
all bassy in which air is
this the air of winter before
spring glacial and old

when fairies first learned
to cope with the human
sprung from their heads my
heart yours plays with steam

melting ice glacial and old
of certain fields one plays
the world any way they will
so gravity whithers away.

1 comment:

Taylor said...

Funny coincidence -- navigated over here today to see what you were up to, and happened to be listening to this collection.

"plucked / in the air anywhere we are // not..." felt especially precise under the circumstances.