Alan: Sometimes perception, emotion and memory fuse, or rather come into simultaneous focus like the layered realities in M.C. Escher’s “Three Worlds.”
Girl Riding Bike
Charlotte, Maine, July 19, 2012
She swings onto the empty country road
and back out of sight.
A glimpse of summers past.
Passing, I glance right,
see the gravel drive, scruffy hedges,
her soft lavender blur, blowing hair,
the weathered farmhouse she’s riding towards,
a sense of fields falling off the edge
Is she happy in this moment’s aloneness?
That’s my hope.
What is it like to be made of air and warm sunshine?
To be flying over the landscape looking down,
and not be in or of it?
What is it like
not to have the earth element dragging one down
or the water element pulling one onward
We have all known this. Still know it.
I remember for a moment,
then forget again.
Nancy: Not even a beach is permanent, the glacial till of the cliff feeds it, the sea steals it and the storms turn gentle summer slopes into steep winter berms.
The Squash Blossoms, The Cicadas, The Hare
And what are they but impermanence,
a day, a month, a year; if we attend,
we too can feel the slew of the earth in our
spines; our eyes can discriminate the finest
degrees of change; even as we walk about in
the world our inner ears sense the slow roll
of the horizon.
I went to the beach; what I saw was the way
the moon had marked it, it was a calendar;
if I lay the beach transparent on the point
of dawn and the measure of dark it calibrates
the days and the seasons.
When I came home I carried the beach with me;
I carried it back and offered it to the hares
and the cicadas. I just opened my hand and sat
down with them and we sat together dissolving
and reforming in the sighs and the ripples.