Notes on 2/14/08

Alas, no indentations

Notes on 2/14/08

The specter through snow on
soft light
sharp, muted color
this morning

looking through closed windows
trimmed with lace
that old rough, homemade feeling

imperfections of snow
imperfections on a bare back
top tied black ribbon draped
on neutral skin
sharp shoulders
thin

vanishing
specter
frail
snowflakes

they eat lunch
she holds a rose
talking of
mirrors in the shower
sulk and steam

momentary lapse

the softness of a snow covered city
hand to her face
down turned his eyes
waiting warm, steaming outside
breath steams up windows

and ignore
the overfed specters
figures in clock tower windows
girls underdressed, melancholy disarray
and a cottage-like house
old country
that once housed a ghost
they say

Two Sides of the Mirror

The shadow of a trout
in the stream below a sloping meadow
wildflower, sagebrush blue, seeping springs
that stain the grass pressed flat, moss and growth and rot

the shadow of a trout taunts and tempts
a slight motion, only the motion to stay in place
stay here and watch the shadow at your feet
feeding and imprisoned by the mirror

somewhere in the current, he breaks
up and out of the distorted mottled deep
ankle deep and wondering at knots and placement
when and where again?

the shadow of a trout
on the gold-stained rocks awaits
and waiting feeds and breathes water
not spooked, just looking

but the sun slips a little bit lower
imprisoned by the flow
and the fish rises slightly again
a flash of scales and bleeding throat and gone

cast out and upward
casting about and nervous of nothing
the nothingness of breeze
blows back the fly, it dances and lays down, the surface uneven

cast and cast and tie and change
looking for the golden back, the sides stained with red
not sure the origin, only wild and native
natural and the river below the sloping meadow just flows on

the shadow of a trout moving upstream
toward a break and willow branches dead
hanging low, catching current and line and weeds
that occasionally stir loose impatient

cast and mend and pull the fly a little closer
waiting for another rise, another tease
cast and cast and tie and change
looking at the shadow settling easily

and finally the native, wild trout strikes
takes the fly and runs, suddenly solid
toward the branches low, the opaque shadow
the nothingness beneath

too big for the river fed by seeping springs
too big to not burrow and nest in the submerged willows
the dead wood gray and gold below
turning and vanishing, suddenly absent again

regain the broken line
the moment of expectation before and after
happiness at the strike
sadness at the sudden anti-climax, the end of it

and walking up the sloping meadow
wildflowers against the green
look back at the soft textures of the river running small and braided
cattle on the hillside baying

the shadow of a trout
silent
stirs and slinks back into the current line
feeding on the light, imprisoned by the mirror.

A Formless Moment

Heavy clouds, there’s snow ahead
the aching displeasure gained and lost again
the dappled light on the water clear and faded to a deeper translucence

he holds her in the bow
gentle but close
softly consoling, calming

his hands unweaving the caught and tangled threads
light and lies and she lies limp and gasping
and the channel drops down, down the submerged shelves
car bodies

the glinting season running away, shifting south
and on the bank the grasses sigh
horses run, spooked by habit, the racing wind
look out over the water

heavy clouds, there’s snow ahead
he frees her, lowers her over the side
painted blue

and holds her in the water
revive with the cold
awaken with the cold

hers eyes wide and staring
gaping and drinking water, silent
silent

no thanks just the steady swimming away
down into the rocks
fading to a deeper translucence
and gone.