1. |
From Emmett's end
03:16
|
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From Emmett’s end to my end
span does the aspen tree,
tall and just as deep.
My Emmett’s well-connected,
he sees what is happening
but he won’t tell me.
The gap is wide. Side by side
I teach and Emmett listens,
and when we tire, so does the sky;
it snaps and then we drink it
and so does the aspen tree.
We overlook the basin
from where the crater it will feed
coiled ashen breeze
when Emmett starts descending
to be with his company
on an autumn eve
and in my eyes, I try to hide
what Emmett once told me:
“a darker iris can shadow-blind us
if shadows we do seek
in the shade of the aspen tree.”
|
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2. |
From Edith's end
02:24
|
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Lay down
the tired,
inspired,
one pound of flesh for a pound,
respite comes and goes, but it blows
up over you,
catastrophe:
a month from now’s
a while.
What’s a hope when it is shot,
but, shot, what’s the rabbit brought?
From Edith’s end, it’s a dripping orange eye…
Pray tell,
my friend,
your end,
don’t worry how it sounds or comes across,
lo, both of us, both we know
it’s seasonal
but permanent,
you’ve heard of it
in lies.
‘Why’ is slippery and forgot
and what’s forgot isn’t sought,
from Edith’s end, it’s a dripping orange eye…
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The rose constants Ithaca, New York
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