Lately I’ve been standing at my window to write. Then I return to my desk. Then I go back to the window. After a morning of this back and forth, I realize I’m writing a poem on both sides of a pane of glass.
Month: November 2017
The Music’s Paid
Breath and brass are familiars
Blending soulful elements
Woods mimic habitat
And voice a common life
All over the world
A percussion is being heard
Strings fuse vibrations
And the earth shudders
Time piecemeals music
To save us from the din
Set in motion
It sways a deafened god
The music’s paid
Let us dance until we love
Neutral Recovery
“Nor it nor no remembrance what it was.”
Shakespeare
Someone sick in neutral recovery I know
Lifts autumn leaves from her eyes,
Dresses in her nakedness,
Walks half the hospital road
Where visitors come and go
Like days through a breathing tube.
You can see the leveling in her face
And at her fourth-floor window,
October mixing with her image,
Branches growing slowly bare,
All her hope appeased and fair,
Lingering like a longer summer.
Someone sick in neutral recovery I know
Gathers all her strength for winter,
Goes more boldly into cold,
Neither well nor worse in her transparency.
Mythic News
How can you kill a Daphne Caruana Galizia?
That’s like killing all flowers,
like killing ourselves
to get at it something already dead.
How can you kill a Daphne Caruana Galizia?
She was made from everything
between non-being and substance.
She was made from the fabric of words.
She takes root in truth.
She branches into the immaterial
like prophecy, like genus, like blood…
How can you kill a Daphne Caruana Galizia?
That’s like killing off trees
expecting light to crown its own shade,
like killing numbers
and seeing plurality die:
Daphne Caruana Galizia, Daphne of Malta,
Daphne transformed.
Salvatore Ala 