We Ar­rive from Other Writ­ings

The Iowa Review - - NEWS -

Let us come to other faces, rea­son­ably. Let us be a box of three. Let us be as­ton­ished by the dif­fi­culty. Plaid or puz­zle, Sep­a­rately. Sim­ply. In cau­tious move­ments. See­ing a bell, a teacup: a vi­o­lent lan­guor in recog­ni­tion. If I say cloud I re­ally mean some­thing like or­gan. Or carafe. Cara­pace. Caprice. More than this A kind of vague yel­low, a like­ness Be­tween mead­ows. In rooms there is A cen­ter, a seren­ity of small bridges Af­ter bat­tle, at cer­tain hours Of inat­ten­tion, when blue is an equipoise Of sky and river. Frame, ur­ban Ex­tract, syn­tax: an alle­vi­a­tion of pat­tern From the noise of ubiq­uity. The word, without. The word around, only. Trav­el­ing In grains, like clouds of lo­custs. An in­ter­rup­tion Pi­o­neer­ing through min­utes ad­ver­tised as Now. The eye is an or­gan, a cam­era. Mounted Like a fish on spi­der legs. On closed-circuit tele­vi­sion, All these things oblige like a table­cloth Or a turntable play­ing cake. The world as­sem­bled in a gar­den of fold­ers. Mu­sic for ele­phants. Con­fes­sions. Sep­a­rated By in­ter­glacial events. Did I say church? I meant to say the op­po­site, weight­less, from my tether Above the Earth.

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