By Rae Armantrout
Where there’s smoke
there are mirrors
and a dry ice machine,
industrial quality fans.
If I’ve learned anything
about the present moment
But who doesn’t
love a flame,
the way one leaps
into being
full-fledged,
then leans over
to chat
Already the light
is retrospective,
sourceless,
is losing itself
though the trees
are clearly limned.
Poet Bio
More By This Poet
Riddance
Ok, we’ve rendered
the rendition
how often?
What were we trying
to get rid of?
We exposed the homeless
character of desire
to the weather.
Shall we talk
about the weather
worsening four times
faster than expected,
eight times,
until the joy
of pattern recognition
kicks in?
Until the crest
...
Pinocchio
Strand. String.
In this dream,
the paths cross
and cross again.
They are spelling
a real boy
out of repetition.
•
Each one
is the one
real boy.
Each knows
he must be
wrong
about this, but
he can’t feel
how.
•
The fish
and the fisherman,
the pilot,
the princess,
the fireman and
the ones on fire.
More Poems about Nature
Listening in Deep Space
We've always been out looking for answers,
telling stories about ourselves,
searching for connection, choosing
to send out Stravinsky and whale song,
which, in translation, might very well be
our undoing instead of a welcome.
We launch satellites, probes, telescopes
unfolding like origami, navigating
geomagnetic storms, major disruptions.
Rovers...
At the Equinox
The tide ebbs and reveals orange and purple sea stars.
I have no theory of radiance,
but after rain evaporates
off pine needles, the needles glisten.
In the courtyard, we spot the rising shell of a moon,
and,...