Saturday, August 15, 2009

Four Messages

Reclining with twine
in the scattered shade.
The field mice made notches

in the bark above the whorled
mosses¬¬–someone is

looking for you.
Aviate-names, tokens,
signs filled the old maple’s summer-
chambers. My eyes
lifted too.

There is not yet anything you believe in, dis-
criminate one, leaping
from knot to knot
with your bony hands.

*

A trace of wind in the morning snow.
The quartz forest. Tree-alphabet-tine.
Who-knows-what

called faintly out to me and
with my hands I called back.
No one else was on the path

but the snow-gulches
on either side gathered in a
strong indifferent persistent
order. Yet would not cease to love.

*

It was neither winter nor spring.
Mud fluted the field where we walked

in no discernible direction.
You parsed the streams:
temporary. Outgrown.
Bliss, loss–you closed

each coverlid. Can this be
the meaning of all the years
of my life? There is

another world–I can
think in it. Casting design
in the marl-sludge-underfoot.
Every footprint-to-be blazing
in unscathed outcomes.

Beads of snow-water
slid down the reeds. Each
surface grew looser and
meant more things.

*

Should I listen to you? Bitter mouth
of pronouncements–not a hope,
a poem.

I shook the tree and out fell
a caucus of flowers, twig-dust,
curtains of aurora.

After a few minutes, a bunting.

The ground below turned
to earth and the earth to waves
and the waves into scarp-
stones from which a wild air blew
into both our eyes–stunned us.

And who would we tell.
And for what.

-Joanna Klink