I. THE ARTISAN IS WORKING ON ME
in her open atalier.
Welcome, she says,
This is the city of floating fog
quarried from the nearest
and the far.
One cannot see across to the other side,
but the world here is quite enough,
enough for the wild ride.
She’s carving and cooking me,
with hands skilled
and hanging like a hemlock’s art.
Fashioning grooves to drain my fumbled head
creating a humble watershed instead
assembling poor bold me
rich with rain.
II. It’s time to have A CONVERSATION WITH GRANITE
Do not resist the season of stone, inside an era of air.
There is no alone.
We’ve been shown—even a mountain’s a cloud and rock must be an artifact of all of us.
Be patience with your breaking down.
III. A QUERY: Am I decomposing or re-composing now?
And can I close my hands
around it all somehow?
No, there’s no holding it—
I weave through the things, the spaces.
And it’s all spaces.
Don’t worry about grasping, we’re misting together in our core.
You’ll open your fists forlorn and find it all there, and more.
IV. LESS ANVIL THAN ANNUAL SOIL
she’s working on me—
breaking me down with fungi sighs
her out-breath of a million skies.
Last night she dropped a river right to my bottom, a temporary nest.
Ok, I’ll hover here for a moment—
an eon perhaps—for even clouds repose
and have to eat I suppose.
V. TRANSPOSE TO WE
At times we eat by taking in
and others by entering
and now we want inside of you.
For you we are a meal.
Open up—say ahhhh!!! Ahhhh….We’re assembling an artisan in our open air lair.
Our calories will form
some small part of that slick poem in you.
And we mustn’t forget the vowels,
like clouds connecting the consonants of your crooked mountain peaks.
VI. ALL THAT’S GREEN AND PURE
like dawn I’m new again
We’re assembling an artifact
We want you and you and you.