Saturday, January 02, 2010

chronicle of these

The god's hand bending and the ruthless swell of the river.. . the wellspring of its hover and the banks come up high on its down its crinkling adding noise its tenderness not the rough wave of a bastion day but a smooth one of Jill's shadow.. her movements slow ... as milk and the kiss over the sweater and the long breasts .. and the waist whiter than powder and the circle ...and up ahead the rink ... and the tale come round at its best first and the sun's rim not abandoned by its birth the coarse smudge of the ridge... the goat's hoof ..her ideas ... burnished with the case of the air the hand catching upward and the waist whiter than snow... the silver pea .. the clinging air... soft as the bramble ... Jill's home the curtained winter...drawing in the hallway light.. over the circle .. tympanum to the dance...

Jill's most south as west its north to her easterly... winding the