Looking back, the language scribbles. What's hidden, having been said? Almost everything? Thrilling to think There was a secret there somewhere, A bird singing in the heart's forest.
Two people sitting by a river; Sunlight, shadow, some pretty trees; Death dappling in the flowing water; Beautiful to think about, Romance inscrutable as music.
Out of the ground, in New Jersey, my mother's Voice, toneless, wailing--beseeching? Crying out nothing? A winter vapor, Out of the urn, rising in the yellow Air, an ashy smear on the page.
The quiet room floats on the waters, Buoyed up gently on the daylight; The branch I can see stirs a little; Nothing to think about; writing Is a way of being happy.
What's going to be in this place? A person entering a room? Saying something? Signaling? Writing a formula on a blackboard. Something not to be understood.
David FerryLooking back, the language scribbles. What’s hidden, having been said? Almost everything? Thrilling to think There was a secret there somewhere, A bird singing in the heart’s forest.
Two people sitting by a river; Sunlight, shadow, some pretty trees; Death dappling in the flowing water; Beautiful to think about, Romance inscrutable as music.
Out of the ground, in New Jersey, my mother’s Voice, toneless, wailing–beseeching? Crying out nothing? A winter vapor, Out of the urn, rising in the yellow Air, an ashy smear on the page.
The quiet room floats on the waters, Buoyed up gently on the daylight; The branch I can see stirs a little; Nothing to think about; writing Is a way of being happy.
What’s going to be in this place? A person entering a room? Saying something? Signaling? Writing a formula on a blackboard. Something not to be understood.
David Ferry