Auckland, New Zealand
blue shadows over the hills
-the hills that mean nothing.
blue paper printing tree-outlines
that glow solid in the unrepentant sun.
common or garden fluoro red flowers
hiding, intolerably in beauty
-burn through blue,
burn through cloud & tree
& radio signals
& dull nothingness
burn through all of these,
come through hand & eye
to hot & solid
smash, graze, crack into orange,
into golden angel.
no beauty will ease my guts today.
the sun burns clear to what I don't want
to see, poetically
I am pinned to the ground,
& watching you fly.
there is sound & breeze, dance
of life in birds, planes, & heroes
the rhythmic swallow of atoms
in wood, vegetation, wing, people.
words glimmer as leaves on the branch
words murmer as leaves on the branch
the bowling of light over & over
& through it all, the heat of it
the line of white that is the wind,
I never wanted to be you,
only to know that movement thinly
independent of earth & thinly
sealed from space. A movement
of freedom to convulse me with gold,
to metamorphosis, to make true my dreams.
You tell me, bird, what it's like up there.
I'll never know, so tell me of the sea's
secret face, the top of trees,
how it is to be wholly in blue,
& never a whisper of corridors grimly
trailed. What's it like to see forever
Or does the illusion vanish?