NEAR PROVIDENCE 9.1.22

”Imagination, as it were, abstracts from thisness.” Jan Zwicky, WISDOM AND METAPHOR, #64

work-in-progress

Winter wandering

between snowfalls discovers

the whites. At the cove

idle pleasure craft

are tarped and shuttered, blinding

under broken clouds.

Amidst mottled ducks,

Canada geese form white forms

in our streaming eyes.

In a cluttered mind

a walk in the snow reveals

the good of walking.

NEAR PROVIDENCE 7.1.22

The cove after snow

had polished the light and left

the sky, met my eye

with a candid stare.

I had to look more than once

for duck one to show

making no waves; duck

two, I had to squint to see

sitting still on a post

where a boat should be

tied up. To pay attention

is a form of love.

.

NEAR PROVIDENCE 6.1.22

work-in-progress

Night thickens, it seems.

The silence deepens, it seems.

I stare at the dark.

At some point, it seems,

the thickness and silence will

start to show in snow.

In passing carlights,

one by one, between my dreams,

I will see it go.

.

NEAR PROVIDENCE 5.1.22

I look forward to

snow. Snow’s full of surprises.

The world starts to flow.

Without snow, winter

is just more of the same-old.

Hard ground, bare trees, sky.

I’m out of patience

with sky. Filled with snow, sky has

tricks up its long sleeves.

NEAR PROVIDENCE 4.1.22

”In the between we are thrown down, but also thrown above, being thrown above the between. Hence the suggestion that the hyperboles communicate more than the terms of immanence can circumscribe.” William Desmond, The Voiding of Being (2020), XXX

work-in-progress

The impossible

blue of the Bay this winter

day, the purity

of the bottom of

a flame. Nobody out to

see gold-tipped cord grass,

ducks in the distance.

Light a match and you

will see this blue, but not

the inscape of cold,

not cloudless skies o-

pen to depths of ultramarine

hyperbolic blue.

NEAR PROVIDENCE 3.1.22

”Love demands eternity because it can never finish telling itself the excess within it of intuition over signification.” Jean-Luc Marion, quoted by Desmond, The Voiding of Being (2020), 217.

Work-in-progress

Record-breaking cold.

The publican lends me an

abandoned hoodie—

an extra layer.

The cove is empty, cement

gray. Just going out to see,

the walking habit,

sustains me now. I look twice—

a duck splashes down.

Philosophical

talk fails to communicate

the broken silence.

NEAR PROVIDENCE 2.1.21

”Or, as Robert Bringhurst has noted, you can walk the path where seizures have been known to occur, but you can’t make poetry happen to you.” Jan Zwicky, The Experience of Meaning, 31.

work-in-progress

Above timberline

as a child I learned to sit

as still as a stone.

I imagined wild

things would take me for granted,

a kind of nothing.

A one-way conver-

sation. The wild expresses

itself without words.

A lizard breathing

on the granite outcrop made

me so self-conscious.

NEAR PROVIDENCE 1.1.22

work-in-progress

It’s January

1, New Year’s Day. The Bay

is covered in mist.

There’s no horizon.

But it’s mild and joggers jog

by and lovers rest

and look at the Bay.

I too love mild, misty days,

and the geese calling.

NEAR PROVIDENCE 31.12.21

We children on New

Year’s Eve would watch TV — the

big bands in New York,

wherever that was.

They danced under the big lights.

I’d had enough and

at midnight I’d go

outside. The desert air was

clear and full of stars

yet light years away.

I watched as they danced and was

pierced by the distance.

NEAR PROVIDENCE 30.12.21

I pass people by

as I wander, and say Hi;

sometimes they reply.

I know their faces

no better than they know mine.

We pass. Some pass a-

way, yet haunt the road.

Wandering may have no goal

beyond our faces.

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