The shadows ring with noise.
It’s time’s breath, which grows
Louder even as it makes other
Sounds, like my mother’s voice,
Fade into hushing light. No, nothing
Fades. Things are observed
Like shadows. Just as this
Poem is not about fading
But uses ‘fade’ four times,
So our lives use the words
Of things we’re not about
To frame what’s
Four times denied,
Four times forgiven, four times
Larger than what appears real,
Like shadows on a late afternoon
Just past rain, where loneliness puddles
And is stepped over by those on their way.
Poem to be read in the middle of the night
Crow shadow passes across the shrugging pine
In the dark a shadow cannot move
It is paralyzed even when the body moves
the shadow stays you cannot shake it
When light filters through the branches
the bird long gone the shadow will
hold still, as if it were never there
The shadow arrives at the train station
on a sunny midafternoon.
He is only here because you are
though neither of you were expecting the other.
When you stand on the bridge over the tracks
he waits below on the platform.
When the train slides into the station and stops
he lies on the roof of the cabin, unnaturally relaxed.
People step off and others step on but he does
not get up. When the train begins moving he slides
into a blur until the last car is gone
then he is back on the platform
as if he had just decided he wanted to get
away from you but it was too late, his shadow
ticket was not accepted by the conductor.
He would turn his back on you but he has no back
or front, just questions. How does one act upon the world
with no depth? with no agency? You have had
enough, and hurry down the steps from the bridge
to confront him but the platform is empty.
Quite suddenly, you experience a thrill, as if
someone had walked across your shadow.
Worst Poem in This Collection
I walked in a circle around an idea.
Like a car in a well-lit parking lot it cast many faint shadows
Spoking out in all directions, but was itself unperceived, as is
Anything at rest exactly where it should be.
Like a circle of vultures it led me to myself walking
Injured by the road’s edge. I’m still not sure what hit me. That
Would have been the good poem.
Time difference, breezy day
Shadows on the sidewalk of leaves in motion
above me are like the shadows of flames
the leaves are burning but the burn is slower it is a burn
we can inhabit or control are the leaves our days
how can we see it in the leaves still green and flexible
how can we see the beginning and end of it all in the shadows
how does the time difference work is it the same
when I send out words to you here in my midsummer
why do I feel the entirety of me burning
This entry was posted in
New Writing, Poetry, The Drift and tagged haiku, JS, leaves, love, midsummer, not haiku, poetry, shadows, The Drift, time, time difference, unregulated verse on . July 11, 2014
Full Moon, Clear Night, Looking at Tree Shadows on Snow
The yard could be silver overcast sky
seen through the lean branches crossing.
I could stare all night, disappointed thinking:
where is that confounded moon?
This entry was posted in
New Writing, Poetry, The Drift and tagged full moon, haiku, JS, literature, not haiku, poetry, Schwaner, shadows, snow, unregulated verse on . February 17, 2014