reckonings | rapture

Summer begins like a missing tooth,
a warm hole to sink one’s self into,
an intimate understanding
of the body having layers.
Repeat the shape
of golden hills rolling
and monotonous longing,
a parade of clouds,
gentle light, seizures of faith—
quiet, loud, quiet—ritualized violence
sincerely and with resolution demanding
this world stay on fire.

temporary hours [glitch], location unremembered, January 2022

“Life and death matters, yes. And the question of how to behave in this world, how to go in the face of everything. Time is short and the water is rising.“
—Raymond Carver

summer testimony (no. 7)

That things “just go on” is the catastrophe. — Walter Benjamin

Gil Rigoulet, England series, 1970-80

The poppies were still asleep.
Cats, the ones who never let me pet them,
stare past me as the sun migrates west.
It is summer. I am feral, again.
Or maybe this rumor wants to be about withdrawal,
an urge for a substance being withheld. Within,
there can be acceptance, resistance,
and something possessed delicately in between—
unknown, suggestive and loose like spontaneous prayer.
The atmosphere, thick with notes of jasmine and rose,
wanders around my morning shadow. It traces vintage memories
swarming unsolicited and holy: 4th of July rodeos,
tomato sandwiches, shedding cottonwoods, and parental neglect
so pervasive it remains material witness to all those lost summers.
Of course gravity is physical, but who will study its somatics?

surrender

“Death is hidden in clocks… in my youth I chose as my motto
the ancient Latin maxim festina lente: make haste slowly.”
— Italo Calvino

HORSETOOTH, Coast Starlight (North), Eugene, OR, June 6, 2022

In between the gaps
where sunlight reaches—
shades of green extend.

Shawls of fog dampen
the moving silence.
I surrendered to Time

as the backsides of towns
and tranquil boredom took me
closer to you and then back

home. Somewhere past the darkness
where distressed light of forests spill
into borders of thriving attraction,

I dreamt bravely. I named it joy.

5:53AM, Coast Starlight (South), Sacramento Valley, CA, June 11, 2022

of the now

“Nearly everyone in the world has appetites and impulses, trigger emotions, islands of selfishness, lusts just beneath the surface.” —John Steinbeck, East of Eden

Miklós Turtle, Hungary, 1999

If you read the daily news,
you are told to be afraid.

If you read the poets,
you see why the sun sings.

If you measure that gap,
slightly more oblivious than
upholding divine rights of kings,
you will find yourself.

If you are quiet, enough,
your erasure will light the way.