Valley Sky
February 22, 2006
February 20, 2006
Other Windows
I Love It When - Sharon Olds
I love it when you roll over
and lie on me in the night, your weight
steady on me as tons of water, my
lungs like a little, shut box,
the firm, haired surface of your legs
opening my legs, my heart swells
to a taut purple boxing glove and then
sometimes I love to lie there doing
nothing, my powerful arms thrown down,
bolts of muslin rippling from the selvage,
your pubic bone a pyramid set
point down on the point of another
-- glistening fulcrum. Then, in the stillness,
I love to feel your grow and grow be-
tween my legs like a plant in fast motion
the way, in the auditorium, in the
dark, near the beginning of our lives,
above us, the enormous stems and flowers
unfold in silence.
I love it when you roll over
and lie on me in the night, your weight
steady on me as tons of water, my
lungs like a little, shut box,
the firm, haired surface of your legs
opening my legs, my heart swells
to a taut purple boxing glove and then
sometimes I love to lie there doing
nothing, my powerful arms thrown down,
bolts of muslin rippling from the selvage,
your pubic bone a pyramid set
point down on the point of another
-- glistening fulcrum. Then, in the stillness,
I love to feel your grow and grow be-
tween my legs like a plant in fast motion
the way, in the auditorium, in the
dark, near the beginning of our lives,
above us, the enormous stems and flowers
unfold in silence.
February 19, 2006
February 11, 2006
Hear the City Burn?
Gabrielle on the Dark Water ~ By Nero (2003)
It was in that ship that Gabrielle would sometimes
talk to me on the lonely star watch, asking above the
music of the bugling night, the waves roaring with
thousands of lonely voices, perhaps voices of all
who had ever drowned, all who had ever died.
“Is it a Star?” Gabrielle asked. “Is it a spark?
Where do the waves’ motions take up? Is that a
dolphin’s shining back or an island? Will the tide draw
us shoreward, but who draws the shore, and do the
hills and valleys move like waves, swelling and
breaking into the trees of foam, human faces?”
“Tell me, “ Gabrielle said, “where is the shore, and
is there no shore, no shore of light or darkness? What
are those foundations of light breaking upon the waves
and the clouds, stars like fires upon the
waters of the darkness – Arcturus, Andromeda, rainy
Haydes? Is there no shore but the argosy of the moving
stars, or are the stars like watchmen’s lamps put
out, or are they the eyes of a peacock? Is it
winter-rimed Orion or the eye of a bird?”
“What birds do you see,” Gabrielle asked me, “and are
they drifting leeward like the stars?”
It was in that ship that Gabrielle would sometimes
talk to me on the lonely star watch, asking above the
music of the bugling night, the waves roaring with
thousands of lonely voices, perhaps voices of all
who had ever drowned, all who had ever died.
“Is it a Star?” Gabrielle asked. “Is it a spark?
Where do the waves’ motions take up? Is that a
dolphin’s shining back or an island? Will the tide draw
us shoreward, but who draws the shore, and do the
hills and valleys move like waves, swelling and
breaking into the trees of foam, human faces?”
“Tell me, “ Gabrielle said, “where is the shore, and
is there no shore, no shore of light or darkness? What
are those foundations of light breaking upon the waves
and the clouds, stars like fires upon the
waters of the darkness – Arcturus, Andromeda, rainy
Haydes? Is there no shore but the argosy of the moving
stars, or are the stars like watchmen’s lamps put
out, or are they the eyes of a peacock? Is it
winter-rimed Orion or the eye of a bird?”
“What birds do you see,” Gabrielle asked me, “and are
they drifting leeward like the stars?”
February 08, 2006
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