The More Things Change

one luminous puddle
oblique to the increasing
obliquity of the decreasing
light available until the rising
of the moon or summer evenings
I suppose it’s always been this way
at least as far back as I can remember
one luminous puddle
oblique to the increasing
obliquity of the decreasing
light available until the rising
of the moon or summer evenings
I suppose it’s always been this way
at least as far back as I can remember
architecture from the early decades
of the automobile, repurposed
in the service of
flowers
exchanged
as tokens of love
or care, or appreciation
this place looks a little tired
even in its current guise
I imagine floral sales
have been down
with everything else
the mint green portico roof
comes as a welcome surprise
as does the reincarnation of this
service station as home to a florist
look how quickly life returns
to the places where people
have tried to keep it out
after very little inattention
and from the most improbably
small opportunities – cracks, chinks
fissures, openings – anything that will
let in light and water, a tiny seed
and then in the blink of an eye
there is a tree where once
just moments before
there was only
bare asphalt
and Pan
has
returned
triumphantly
and almost as if
he had never left…
shadow teeth and flaky plywood
a coat of green asphalt with deepening relief
a skin that calls to mind buildings half a world away
living things rooted in, growing from its body
transform this fairly simple building
from a boarded up business
into an array of shapes
and textures –
an unknown quantity
a one eyed creature waiting
quietly for the sun to go down
in dry weather
with nothing flowing
from the flat roof
the drainpipes
turn their attention
to the heavens directly
supplicating the sky
for some sort of
condensation
to precipitate out
and flow through them
that the dry ground
might revel in
moisture
and life
continue
to transpire
shimmering
in the shadows
as the sun descends
just imagine this place
glowing in the light
of a rising sun
rather than merely
reflecting reflected light
where the Sky comes down
all the way to touch the Earth
there Earth reaches up
the red of her soil transforms
in the air beneath the Sky
new colors emerge
the pigmentation of life
in the space between
Earth and Sky where life itself
is the fruit of that union
there is a way of looking
that is a way of feeling
a synaesthetic perception
whereby self and other blur
and the aliveness of the world
is found to be undeniable
as it presents itself
in relationship
with those
who choose to
allow themselves
to experience it – and
sometimes even to those
who refuse to make that choice
droplets condensing
emerging from a liquid plane
a vertical plane, a pane of liquid
already straining credulity
and yet there is truth
in the image
even in the words
what on earth do I mean?
I am showing you what I see
I am mixing metaphors
with actual facts
I am seeking to facilitate
a shift in perception
this is poetry, after all
I am following a thread
it is a golden thread
from the actual liquid
of a pane of glass
arises the appearance
of condensation
albeit on a scale that is
altogether inappropriate
and yet there it is – seeing
is believing, right?
I see droplets emerging
from a vertical pane of liquid
I see inherent ambiguity
and I magnify it
shine a light
on it
what is the point
in this kind of play?
what value ambiguity?
I restore the necessary blur
to allow for the clearest Vision
I apply stochastic resonance
increasing the noise
in order to hear
the signal
when the sun goes down
the blue sky just gets bluer
and the shadows rise