| one red blossom/moving clouds
by Marcia Arrieta i read of intrigue. runes. the clock manual appears. i have no clock. dandelions & winter. the origin of spectra. there are questions i wish to ask you. the answers are unimportant. we play word games. nothing compared to the wind. or the snow even. last time i saw you—you were surrounded by incredibly bright light. perhaps it was because the corridor was dark & deserted. was the apple symbolic? my head has become a daffodil—it is bent by the force of the rain. i have no idea what spectra is. perhaps spectra is a secret which combines all & nothing. are we an experimental test? you mentioned surreal. i mentioned light. in between there is sculpture & a thousand poems & drawings. the trees bend in wind. "Studies of other spectra by Kayser and Rung, Rydberg and others showed that the lines could be sorted out into overlapping series, … converging to heads on the short wave-length side. Some of the series had a common point of convergence."* like a ginkgo leaf or snowflake carried in a bird's mouth…. *from Physical Optics by Robert Wood |
Vogel Park at Night (Rome, NY) by Francis DiClemente |
| THE END OF AUTUMN
by Richard Luftig might be confused with the beginning of winter as if the two were identical twins who when young are dressed alike by their parents. But look at them now— they know they are separate enough to listen so closely, to feel each other’s breath before daring to engage in one of their own. The leaves know too. They mourn over how they were beautiful once, causing gasps of delight from suitors. But now such beauty is useless, a nuisance really. They hang around underfoot all day like unruly children who misbehave whenever the adults are not around to watch. They let themselves get dragged inside so as to rebuke those of us too cowardly to venture out and take on tantrum winds. Like those winter leaves, we remain watching, tottering, our lives suspended between seasons, hoping for a frigid moon to whisper our name in the dark, or wishing for wind filled trees to bend toward us, to push us forward, downward, or in any direction, just so we can feel some momentum. |
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