Transparencies
and Fields
Robert
Lietz
How
they'd depended once on bodies getting done!
And how they had looked outside, beside
the
homes they'd raised despite convictions over borders,
where you could hang most anything,
where
love for sure, and love, for its calypso variants,
defying the grumbles overhead, took up
with
sentiment and selves, implementing anything. And
now these stones alive
imagine
fidelites of scale, the voices of stones alive, above
the weaving river grasses, unable
to
control or fathom still, believe the change of light
had meant the village powered down
/the
scruffs had chased down innocents/seeing the trucks
waved through, and then the sudden blasts
where
worlds widely spun, arranging the face
in permafrost, and, after twenty years,
absurd!,
and after twenty years, impossible!-- this heft
where dreams could stand to be considered,
this
dust and air and light, this wishbone light/these
cross-lit constancies, persisting on the wharves,
and
on the blocks made bright by the persisting acappellas,
leaving the night alone, and leaving
these
rock-forms gazing off the hills and naming planets,
happy to have heard jazz-rounds
and,
thinking, after all, themselves this etiquette, these song
and gutter -birds, here in the flashing light
that
seems to move on the glad waters, this scaled say
and reflexive calculus, reaching about so far,
for
all the terrible concentration, for all the sad misanthropies
and personal subscriptions, to
reappreciate
the tunes, the moods when fronts
moved duly through the country,
the
music tracking from the fish shacks
on Commercial Boulevard.
The
2River View, 2_1 (Fall 1997)
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