Wednesday, November 20, 2013


As if we any of us came into focus
more than once or twice a month: the whirr
of the camera and the rasp of the shutter
giving news of aperture, the quick
opening of glossy black, the widening pupil,
the short-breathed sobs of coming or of grief;
and then the shutter falls. A quiet comes.
We pull on snaggy knits and clumsy button shirts;
we dry our eyes on anything at hand. Before
our hearts return to their horizon note
we are forgetting and our eyes are filming over,
sticky with the kitchen grease of days.


Dale said...

This is, in some difficult to define way, a response to Luisa Igloria's "Horizon Note" in *The Saints of Streets*.

rbarenblat said...

Beautiful, Dale.

Zhoen said...

I'd say hormones…

Oh, wait.


Las Espirales de Brígida said...

Thank you Dale for your kind words, and reading my Spanish, your work is very very nice, and...if I visit your city someday, for sure I'll book a massage!

Have a wonderful week,


Dale said...

Ah, so Brígida is a nom de guerre? I really love Espirales!

Las Espirales de Brígida said...

Nom de guerre, nom de plume...glad you like Espirales, they are so very mine!