
CONJUNCTIONS: A Web Exclusive
Summer Letters Joshua Harmon
the way memory and summer reveal their terrible affinities while speaking separate dialects --Michael Davidson "Summer Letters"
1. shored up inside still they speak liturgies over this valley's grid and does summer remain in a sort of air or a morning it is a fact limited views on days like these pursuing burnt earth and when he returned a lampglow fluttered papers the house leaned and he did not imagine summer hills fading into white lines 2. returning we burned ourselves and in our books burned star fine ash sketches paper imprints his breath the collage of speech his breaks culled never his hands left marks all over this town perception returns on returning forgets endures fathoms years fashions speech's garb skin masks pale stars 3. its name begins at the lake regrets the insides of clouds and gulls so far inland windows open only partway color has already been written and what won't resolve reminders in asphalt loom shouldered into simply describing twenty years ago twenty minutes from now which is entangled early morning word spreads 4. unhitched dust settles water assumes the shape of rocks the haze and a hand on a page a heron stands in the creek by night they wait for another mapping a route from home scant furtive fires nothing but in care of you his arms in this sad knot scans hems trees hinge upon a past upon an unseen gift a cloud suspended behind a chimney and to speak a lantern apart they followed traces in the attraction of habit 5. everything has slowed climbed steps to the door and hid behind it is it possible to turn another disappears all of the sky is a ruse is a letter is a day grown over seeks emphasis in calendars many hours spoke vows ignite the memory prove intention how it presumes the recurring sun and patch of hills the voice from corners thorns successive designs weather became important creased lines bleed dispatches to think of drift blackly treed vein crevices dialogues drown a nest unutterable 6. to hedge's green layers we turned a twig roots of my wool-gathering speaks to the beginning or two years back the pulse in winds dwells atop silent house Oneonta countrymen roots of the beginning of dusty lines awakened the leaves' silver ends remembered through memory how often the grass bent and boards cracked and when he returned returning forgot paled into another 7.
shapes impressed upon pillows by mourning lost words a waking promise spreads and now all ceremonies have ended curled his wings grew from a knee from cock wilson the historic ward numbers cadences concealed absence he begged a copse hid such messages an idea of age gathers any missing story so well hewed we hunted water and leaves and stones three creeks silty walked another riverbank once our vocabularies now halved 8. a warning of moon in daylight on summer's quiet paths yet waning to cold air she revealed hitherto abandoned structures clove pendant spoken with burnt tongue under fog calls each departed letter and the letters spelled a name in these hills and words passed between two houses a mile apart a mark crosses and begins in each letter another writes 9. water parts two roads to words white circle candles burned under hills the length of this country driven from the letter of the intent to what's left of a pattern pressed between leaves lost light to away maybe we forgot he said push mist the road blink left rose a summer ending in rain Dutch river settlements terrel unfold ways begin dark a seacoast faints on falling this press acre of ground we moved through return paths feet cut down 10. into sight abandons senses voice sway. the hill once painted fades and eyelashes occur as dusk. fields grown over unseen a hollow fills. the lake dirt in afterthought begins a sentence envelopes drifted tables and letters accumulate unsent. two voices events events the mornings begin damp grass fenced skin peeling I unburying all year