Devil’s Paintbrush
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| Devil’s Paintbrush |
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In my slow-burning archive orange hawkweed
thrives in granite-charactered soil spalled off the basement stone, a beaver labours up her steep skid road logging poplar for food and shelter, wind drives rivers of ripples down a pond. Everything here knows what to do but me. Like a bogus boiler inspector I investigate every valve, work and rework notes to husks, skeletal remains, survivors who revive experience. I memorize, make pictures to walk into, for the final time when I can’t walk or hear or see, and see lake-cradling pink granite, its orange earth, its skin of lives flickering, flickering. |
© 2001-2004 MzViv