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.

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