Sunday, February 3, 2013


There is a cruel, messianic, dim, tribal intransigence

That gains you nothing

There's a bull-headed childish baby-tantrum

That can unleash untold consequences

I am appalled by the darkening of the sky

I watch my love

It is always my love I watch

The first time that we stayed
In the city we stayed indoors
But I looked out a lot
On an empty lot (and)
Was quiet and kept to myself

We first moved in the dead of winter
I was like an animal
Needing some place warm
(which of course I never got)

But I do recall golden shafts of light
Upon me
One particular winter's afternoon

the robin and the butterfly

and the leaf and the flame

and the extinction

It is when the extreme point of restlessness

is reached

that grace comes

at a terrific speed


Her skinny body is white as a harvest moon,
Clear as a crystal goblet, radiating light
She has one face, two hands with slender fingers,
bright eyes, she looks at me,
she's not afraid to look at me
nor I to look back


is the very picture of fortitude
and on her head wears one of several
floppy hats,
drapes her form in glorious scarlet
and is at ease,
when bending down and calmly placing
either one of both her hands
upon the stormy animal's mouth


Simon Pettet
from More Winnowed Fragments
(Talisman House, 2005)

photo : john sarsgard

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