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Three male Tule Elk (Cervus canadensis subsp. nannodes) standing in heavy fog, along Tomales Point Trail, Point Reyes National Seashore, California: photo by Wing-Chi Poon, 22 November 2008
Sleep addressed me familiarly, calling
She takes a third of our lives and when
we come back this way a second time
..............doesn’t recognize us
traipses to the curtains to let
.............in the broken glass light of clouds
....................CLOSED
.......read the sign on the dream shop door
.......the battered mouse....... a grey dust ball
..............................
roared about lost innocence
............to a loose sock........on the closet floor
.........ripped anew
....................out of the upside
..............................
..............................
She takes a third of our lives and when
we come back this way a second time
..............doesn’t recognize us
traipses to the curtains to let
.............in the broken glass light of clouds
....................CLOSED
.......read the sign on the dream shop door
.......the battered mouse....... a grey dust ball
..............................
roared about lost innocence
............to a loose sock........on the closet floor
.........ripped anew
....................out of the upside
..............................
..............................
Southern California coastal range in fog: photo by Wing-Chi Poon, 7 November 2007
11 comments:
Tom,
Summer's and fall's fog turns to early winter's downpours, golden-crowned sparrow calling
"oh dear me."
10.23
light coming into sky above still black
ridge, golden-crowned sparrow’s oh dear
in foreground, wave sounding in channel
graphite sketch, difference
between this and that
which shows itself, however
this happens, that is
silver of sunlight reflected in channel,
pelican lifting up from tip of sandspit
the broken glass light of clouds...
Beautiful, and timely having just returned through the fog clouding the hill top town of Shaftesbury.
Magic, Tom.
California
make up your mountain mind--
ocean or mountains?
Desert or forest?
Trees elk between.
This is wonderful.
I can see the "broken glass light of clouds" in my head.
Each image falls one after the other into dream place elegantly.
Elk ghosts
move their legs
through grasses
wet with
coast
conference
brown stones
chewing, chewing fog
like packages of sleep.
Elk, is that you?
I thought it was my fogged-up brain
filled with foggy cotton
beside the shore
up near the treeline.
"read the door on the dream shop door" -I have often tried to.
I do so often feel as if I am trying to hear a voice in the fog.
Don't wake me up.
Yes, the dream shop seems to be under new management.
Our charming felines down through the several decades, though (perhaps too) well fed, have maintained a remarkable instinctive interest in the form of "play" that involves the simulation of "prey", as many a wee tim'rous beastie has learned the hard way. This poem memorializes one such mock hunt by discovering the sad aftermath.
Steve, the broken glass light of dawn clouds is sending down shards of rain here again this morning. No birds peep. Morning downhill commuters throb into the mist oblivious.
"doesn’t recognize us"
great, great poem and the two pictures!
one would do anything (if one could do that) to stand where Wing-Chi Poon did and see the wondrous Southern California coastal range ... even sleep, if that was possible
Thanks, dear Aditya. The coast range does look so soft and gentle, there in the fog.
What is not seen is everything that is not missed.
(Time to consult a pillow said Dracula as he hobbled back to his box.)
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