Like a letter someone writes in the early hours,
as rain turns all the windows to skin.
Like the ink that streaks across the vellum
surface, ending in a flourish or a dash.
Like the light that filters upward from the ground
as mid-day heat; or condenses in beads of sweat.
Like a blur, like a wing, like a shard;
like a face passing behind the shutters.
Like the sky that’s often mistaken for weather;
and the world beneath it going where it goes.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
OTHER POSTS IN THE SERIES
- Aperture
- Landscape, with Ruby-Throated Hummingbird
- Prognosis
- Listings
- Grenadilla
- Aubade
- El Sagrado Corazon
- Consolation
- Three (More) Improvisations
- Reconnaissance
- The Gift
- Goldfinch in the Garden
- Talon
- What Cannot Eat
- Happiness
- Ode to the Heart Smaller than a Pencil Eraser
- Defense
- Petition to Fullness
- Heart you Want to Lead in from the Cold
- Unending Lyric
- Trace
- Prospecting
- Dear modest four-bedroom, two-and-a-half bath
- Shit
- Ode to the Pedicure Place at the Mall
- Defiler
- Letter to Attention
- Real
- Discordant
- Dowsing
- Landscape, with Incipient Questions
- Letter to Stone
- Orison
- Milagrito: Eye of the Raven
- Epithalamium
- What You Don’t Always See
- Going to the Acupuncturist in the Market
- Familiar
- Migrant Letters
- The Road of Imperfect Attentions
- In the Country of Lost Hours
- Morning Lesson
- Reprieve
- Song of the Seamstress’s Daughter
- Landscape, with Construction Worker, Ants, and Gull
- End Times
- Dream Landscape, with Ray-bans and Leyte Landing
- Pantoum, with Spiderweb and Raindrops
- Assassin’s Wake
- Shroud Villanelle
- Dear Annie Oakley,
- Landscape, with Red Omens
- Late Summer Landscape, with Twilight and Daughters
- Ghazal of Unattainable Silence
- Try
- Occasional
- Distance, Then
- Turning
- Noon Prayer
- Acompañamiento
- In the Convent of Perpetual Adoration
- State of Emergency
- Storm Warning
- Charms
- Goodbye, Irene
- The Lovers
- Currents
- Dream of the Four Directions
- Chainus
- Lost Lyric
- Dear recklessness, dear jeweled
- Gleaning
- Bearing Fire
- The Summer of the Angel of Death
- Veneer
Like the sky that’s often mistaken for weather;/ and the world beneath it going where it goes.
UNCERTAIN WEATHER
“We have known them all already,
known them all”. Thus, we measure lives,
abandoned hopes, laments, even sighs.
We have heard them all already,
the prayers that remain unanswered
behind bolted doors, darkened rooms.
This anguish over being here and not
here is all too familiar, but like innocent
children, we still look toward times
when we eagerly open holiday boxes
and find surprises no longer there,
but manage to smile anyway, bottle up
a “No thank you,” and move on to other
boxes, only to find feigned familiar
joy that those are still the wanted toys.
Like uncertain weather marked in the sky,
we move on, unchartered, with the flux,
like all things plotted begin then end.
—Albert B. Casuga
06-23-11
http://ambitsgambit.blogspot.com/2011/06/uncertain-weather.html
Like the sky that’s often mistaken for weather;
and the world beneath it going where it goes.
Or like that rattling pulse escaping under the fingers:
playing pooh-sticks with the blood of our hearts;
hoping our lives will re-appear
on the other side of the bridge.