I consulted the Magnetic Oracle for a haiku to go with my May grid.
moon blossoms between
rain root and seed song—bird boughs
blanket the wild wind
Forever between today and tomorrow, suspended in presence. Infinite darkness mingling with perpetual light, like shadows photographing a mirror.
At first the beginning is closer than the end. Suddenly the finish has left the start far behind.
What is the measure of now? Who can hold the moving hand, the cell dividing again and again? Where does the universe locate the particle that waves as it disappears and reappears on its random path?
Who can draw the map that connects never with always?
The remainder of
dusk meeting dawn. What mortal
can enter the stars?
The crows have followed. The blue jays. The cardinals. Voice calling to attention as footsteps sound toward and away from doors. Penetrating closed windows and the background hum of the construction at the end of the block. Dark shadows transforming into silhouettes on bare branches not yet convinced of the imminent arrival of spring.
Where is the hawk?
new streets and sidewalks–
winter lingering, chilling–
robin’s morning song
I recently moved 10 blocks north, a whole new blank slate to fill.
People think of cities as not-nature. But the birds and trees tell me I’m home.
My skull is clouded, mute. My eyes can’t penetrate the storm of fog. I wake at night with brain burning–not red fire, but an uncomfortably warm, rough, choking smoke. There seems to be no ending; the black and white video merges into exaggerations of grey. All maneuvers lead back into themselves. I am ill with unease.
Trees stand leafless, calm.
Earth is soaked in melting snow–
awash in waiting.