Rural in Nature, Transcendental in Temperament
Dear longstanding friends
Late summer's wilting flowers
Lovelier with age
Whispering to each other
False rumors of rain.
Who only watch, and watching,
Wander off in mist.
What is it about
Desertion and emptiness
That echoes in us?
Under a starched sky
Memories and hover flies
Kiss me in the sun
and here am I in mine,
mist lifting from the valley,
ridge from ridge obscured.
Mood indigo.
What saved us from each other,
our flaws too well-aligned,
you in the middle verses,
me in the final phrase?
—with a nod to Duke Ellington
The night sky
My singular reality
Fireflies extinguished
A mosquito at my ear
A broadcast of stars
Sometimes you visit me there
In my secret life in the sky
A late summer dirge
Accompanied faintly
By crickets far below
dismantle this lightning,
I can no longer tell
if I am alive,
absence my darkness,
leaped and drawn,
indestructible.
—an erasure of the 450-word poem Lichen by Jacques Dupin, as translated from the French by Harry Matthews.
T
Hooded woodland child
present and absent
clutching daisies
at my center
hovering
even after.