Extra Hidden Life, among the Days. Brenda Hillman

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СКАЧАТЬ & nothing

      comes together anymore—

      democracy & time,

      from da: to divide—

      there was the love you could not

      live without, & you

      had lost it, though you stood

      inside the life

      that gave you life—

[& heard a humming, like the]

      —& heard a humming, like the

      start of time …

      & when the wind agreed,

      the knobs of song molecules fit into

      the frog, a knowledge heard

      the humming, without fear—

      (puffball, spinning, among

      the dimensions: —

      wears itself out,

      wears itself out, by evening …)

      to know, what, in a day?

      to have thought

      the children safe, & the little woods—

      that thought must be given back …

      not safe, & lost — you could

      text but they might not text back …

      Not to be undone by this.

      (even if?) even if.

      (even if?) even if.

      … to rest

      with what must be given up: there was

      a breaking at the start of time,

      then love that

      broke the breaking …

The Forests of Grief & Color

      —Listening,

      past the hazel bank…. the changed life

      lies under, prior

      to purr—; new species grow

      cold spores, inside

      casing strewn … Groups & nations

      howl unseen … The mind

      god-labors

      pumping itself green. It’s

      then your true eye

      gathers its half

      loves; pollen floats

      upstream in doubt,

      in the shadow of a drought;

      (put the phone down,

      you’re just about

      out of opposites, oh,

      dark evening— sink …)

      In brief

      woods, there’s lignan

      at work, past profit,

      such comfort to decay, wood

      mind would, so small

      to say: “apart, fled” —!

      Hold in hope, not … out! not to go

      out among them, yet …

      (to have important work

      among the dead—)

The Before Sleep Kind of Everything

      (What is the edge of the self—?)

      (The edge of the self

      is the f, its awning of breath—)

      The old woman greets death

      in her bed — — the peril cloud

      ascends — “well done!”

      She dozes off & feels for those

      she cannot help but feel fear for —;

      Over the ledge

      of sound — Vast sage!

      It visits her,

      she must sleep widely then. — And

      when the mild dead hover … she clings

      clings clings to the rim

      of the prayer wheel — Now

      motion goes on to release her —;

      she helped you unknow

      the half-true —.

      After, she greets the greeters …

      radiant roots, reluctantly brought:

      beside the creamy chaos of the stars —

Composition: Fringe Lichen: Tilde & Mãe

      As i have since i was a child in summer, found a rock with a fine example of life;

      this time Flavopunctelia soredica, fringe lichen, with tilde-like edges;

      to extend a sound where other life could hear,

      in hopes of accomplishing nothing, offered punctuation to the lichen, to my

      mother who was very quiet at the time

      so it would be heard & not heard in the heavenly sphere, at least, as the

      brain imagined it there, making absolute motion, in a harmless frame, as

      the granite has spoken since i was a child, in other words,

      i said mãe

      with 10 rows of 12 tildes & 2 rows of mãe, in Portuguese,

      i СКАЧАТЬ