11 June 2007. Alison in the pool, leaning back, looks up smiling. Her black suit and blue green water. Birds in flight, Portland, dipping down over the Columbia. Rough freighter filled with rust, downstream, working tugs with flat pram prows--river boats--moored nearby. Ukrainian cab driver--Odessa. Old Russian songs, now with a Uniate twist--softened, rounded-off--but still that same longing... He swings over to Woodstock--way out at 82nd, same as four decades back, ramshackle structures, overgrown, the edges rounded off as well. Winter rains, green--a burgeoning, by way of melancholy...
Carved in stone, a single bird, emerging from a ledge. No lengthy wings, just a hint of flight, staring, forever...
No comments:
Post a Comment