Mesh, leaves, web
a long poem in 2 parts (a description of)( a journey to the far south)
Part I (or a map)
Green deep the sea white rises to seed and with fluttering steps disperses — spreads light wings like blossoms falling breath and eyes full with their vision— green valleys, azure waves as long grass bows both sides of me waves of wind briefly deepening the color and it is said that “ even those who can cross raging foam by foot are amazed ” Of birds’ swell— islands houses atop clouds built— clouds of feather low— how wind billows them free swimming blue deeply parting reforming storm of petrel— snow as tern under cirrus rain feathers drift in communion solid and not solid — of one sky with currents of air kept between them and color of pure wing not dissolving Below …. tides of grain …. sing the sowers in their snow and water-carriers under veils of moon upwelling a song of half-dark the doorway empty, always To see places once imagined steeped in shore to see them, far horizon: we spoke of the girls who tend to sun’s rays — yes, I remember an image recedes and thought drifts along petrel wing image, comes Under shade of tree emblazoned toward old age, reverie From temple’s beam light’s incision Semele — white branch red with blossom and She-of-Full-Bloom hid, as into calyx a pyre emblazoned with bud Leaves around her, the light moves — the many strokes that compose one figure “girl-and-bird” Peace is the grove where we talk— where two places blend into one …. oh, a haiku, but like smoke …. traces, ruins and we talked of ghosts— that in stories two souls may be redeemed, and the path southward shared, (a description of …. ) and the landscape bestowed being a palimpsest— how forth from deepest blue came the grove— its peace a double image — angels ring sky’s corneal substance how all leaves mediate— what net-work! the branches’ arterial flights — the melting sun threads and within camellia’s web a myth of two souls, told:
Part II (or a judgement of)
The woodcutter does not share body with oak that he smooths by hand and cuts with eye a dialogue he is calm in his grove and quietest heart his home embraced a living air aglow shaded that is intimacy a bed of pine cones embers, glows departs in fine white smoke Tender are movements that can evoke the possibilities of a world Space enough made to shade those who will meet in rain as sparrow measures for its nest to be— parting, to be huddled inside dark-eyes’ geometry again, The direction of light and the angle of the arm meets, as pours a reflective stream Light as sweet and within longing, hope (contains) “tree-at-river” and opening, under overhang silver light (concomitant) Just to say that ‘we are alone’ cold’s trace the rain falls Together and luminously adorned imbibed the room’s awakened sleep To see in changing light 3 variations, the same image shared in the myth of tree’s fragrant snow And as wake recedes then what has failed? thoughtless (has poetry?) Into the voluptuous dark of his mind— into the privateness of their liquid warmth enveloped them a room into which no mind can pursue— retreated the geese on their road but sky, time’s intrusion and of his own personal mythology essay: breath, grass and the body that contains it spring bathing it was a ghost-dance it was a bird-dance that contained the seed of all art a whirling labyrinth geese along skyways, again sunken lake, a lament sparrow with white throat serenades pauses its song continues it was a childish secret it was of grace and sensuousness it was transcendent and they spoke of worlds too receding …. where mystification clouds loneliness where long fronds spray over water aqueous silver casts bathing shapes over shadows eyes pregnant by waterside the individuation of each leaf and vine in depths the inviolable image saved a glimpse fades gauze of peacock screened by grass, flowering long, languid and under her grayness languishes, (winnowing) a kiss, dip of knee eyes half-lidded burn as spring’s brief autumn (buds) disturbs rose-flesh and gold spring-burn To dampened shade that spans the limits of this world being a species of— being an individual of this species of world the branch is heavy with falling
Marvelous
What is this painting?