exchanges & encounters
whirring fast beating wings”
“from the dark earth through the mid-air”
—Sappho, fragment 1
Sappho, though the technology has changed
I am walking straight toward you, listening.
Dry grass and American words are all I have
to reach you. And this small clay figure of a boy
whose belly is warm with dust, the thumbprint
warm on the boy who makes us lie down
and we lie down so that even flies love
our skin & a woman speaks dark in each ear.
While in this bright air, a man is hammering
against marble that flares everything white
in the sound of cicadas & wind. The invisible
is not hiding. Appearance is not hollow
clothing. Not a shell. The doves are your doves.
Not emblems. Not hidden. They are close as
the water’s clear salt and where my heart dives no less.
inhabited by your absence
plowed field just at sunset
stones, black sea urchins, sand
the wash of salt
candles, soap, white cup
from the trellised marketplace
bells, counting aloud
everywhere your words have been torn away
scant shelter of thistles, thin rain, shadow puppets, the moon
yellow over blue Asia Minor
each fragment—a lacuna of perception—shadows the unseen
clear glass of water,
the sound of waves
just as transparent as olive groves
drawing light into their leaves & fruit
there are so many places to find you
in the endless
white spaces you have left us
a telegram from S
hastily translated
BELIEVE THIS
LUCENT MOUTH FLOWERING
SHRINES—EVERYTHING SEEN
(no exclusion)
a later footnote appeared on green paper
wrapped around a stone near the porch steps
EROS—“TRANSFORMATIONAL ACTIVITY”—THE POEM
A LONG FALL INTO
INTELLIGENCE
in love with
WHITE SEA CLIFF EDGE,
PATH THROUGH CYPRESS, WHERE WE’RE HEADED
eyes open
maps to the cliff edge
. . . . . . . .what is visible. . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
carries us inside. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . [what is visible]. . . . . . . .takes us close
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . as the moon . . . . . .
increases. . . . . . . . what is visible increases
. . . . . . . . recovers. . . . . . . . . [is shining]
. . . . . . . . & clear, cicadas. . . . . . . .the actual
grows larger. . . . . . . . takes us far. . . . . . .
[is not hiding]. . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . .Ochre wax. . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . [white] . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . washed rock. . . . . . . .
oregano. . . . . . . .a gate. . . . . . . . .[Young mother]
. . . . . . . . blue swallow. . . . . . . . .It is not a trick. . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . .this gravel path. . . . . . . .
laurel leaves. . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . climbing roses
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
we are. . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . not
turned away. . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
the quality of mercy
holds out her hand. . . . . . I go walking in the dark
. . . . . . . . . . .porcelain face in the grass. . . . . . . . . . . .
worn, milky blue, a charm. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . Her face is sepia and gentle. . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . come to me beyond all roses and praise
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
My heart is a grammar lesson lark
who sings as the grain beats green on our legs, a field
that flame does not burn, it must be light, it must be secret
our walking there. . . . . . hollows in the turf. . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . white stones in a line. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
the machines can’t mow water down . . . . . . . . . . . .
she raises the light in her hand
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . across the night field
all that is lost. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
the orchard
“as the sweet-apple reddens on the bough-top”
—Sappho, fragment 105
mutsu, keepsake, russet
irregular, fertile treasury
of names in the mouth
eating the imagined,
we lie in
late fall grasses
deep green moving
inside
caves of happiness
the creek shines nearby
for coyotes, foxes & deer
invisible in this wild
garden, temporary
peace between the cultivated
& what lives outside our naming
dear reader
You wanted to see a picture of me.
Here’s one way.
and 2 seconds later:
yours,
S
shopping list
“… robe … saffron … purple robe … cloak … garlands …”
—Sappho, fragment 92
purple & russet silk
gold flame pattern
birdwing throat
scent of sunflower pollen
myrrh & pale jasmine
iridescent water weave
grass green rose dust
falls loosely over shoulders
plum leaf: haze, light
spilling water bowl, a morning
of skin skimming freshly woven
to speak in smells, as one animal to another
I.
ravens calling at sunrise how poplar stems smell, slightly
sun on granite
the heat inside
what matters most
pine pollen & resin, fresh morning air:
a catch at the throat
very cold & bright locked aluminum casing, titanium
wire, sparks across electrodes
refrigerated egg, an idea held
tight & clear in the mind
an idea held
II.
Orion grows brighter,
smell of inches & leaves, the dust
of armchairs & books, copper
a way out & into
anything hammered
mended & torn again first sun in weeks falling & falling inside yourself
how wonderful: bright flicker of quartz
& numerous birds
at the heart: filament & arc, seam of skin
the catch, the locket,
the edge: net full of water
& equally empty
what to give up & what to hold onto:
the interior of hair, the way he parts his hair to prove it’s not a pelt, the respectable man with his arms frantically upraised: “I am not an animal,” he cries, all evidence to the contrary, “I am not an animal.” Betrayed by breath & bone, every pore, every follicle reveals, every smell, every scrap of body betrays & saves us
that paradise of upheaval,
the exact place
you find yourself
net full of water
III.
what you used to think was weak
smell of newly opened iris & lilacs
& now find is alive and incredibly strong
oak leaves under fresh snow,
the story moving backward
sliding into thaw
rust & metal shavings
ripe mulberries overhang
summer lake, floating
like a swan, a freefall
return to the world
read this book of rainwater
book made entirely of smells & silence
“blue: the sea, the sky, the unknown”
a stone to pound open green
almond husks—white inside
the seed inside the seed
finding the moon reflected in waves
another mystery: the deep blue
sea made of clear water
how our eyes create love
lumen: light, eye, opening
“and the whole place shadowed by roses”
—Sappho, fragment 2
shadow cast by the moving shade
of plane trees
voluntary blindness, acquired patiently
with great & hopeless effort
a place so deep
light can only enter as an
idea plummeting more deeply into
this unclothed abundance
“empty space or
missing part”: hollowed : lumened
luein < luein > a loosening
lyre of × × × × × × × × unbound light