The pile

 

Day passed to more day, reverent, I have no disbelief

I continue my arrangements I make more I pile on

I clear away I smell bristly soil mulch 

I look at Giacometti ensouled by Lee Miller, rat skittish solarization

I do not splash

Do you think I am dumb, Elliot says, when she says, Elliot do not go on there

I don’t think you’re dumb, I think sometimes you’re not a good listener

When at first she walked the children by 

No climbing up the mountain, she says, because they want the dirt perfectly in a pile

On the return Elliot was at risk for climbing the mountain 

For disturbing the pile

Because he sometimes doesn’t listen

I would listen and disturb

I gather round the voice true I fear it

We bow and we become erect 

Penelope

When we were people around trees I didn’t take the tree too seriously I knew it had a heart and that I was one, that was my magnetism pre-time lit up. Then we came to sit around the voice and with it a body electrified torn asunder the tree tore from its roots our heart as I knew none of my companions now and they knew not me. So I followed the tree. I would go as it went and where it went at first I was blind to, I heard some things, yes. I heard the speaking heart that was inside no longer, that from its distance said go on faster and again and soon I began to use my eyes, needling my hands I mean, I began to weave and in the weaving I was assured for there I was to see.

Evelyn

 something re-claimed. I know not what. 

the appearance

alive. Alive! concretizing, or not. is that how to picture a woman named 'daisy'?

I believed I had a fair understanding of W. G. Sebald until I read his biography and saw the black-and-white snapshot of him as a young man standing thigh-deep in a river, topless in wet jeans with a deep tan, defined muscles, and a dagger in his hand.

Birthday cesaree

Walking out along peninsula the jetty we the waves great limestone buildings no stucco sta cah toe and water crashing in crashing too strong the water green and stone browning in the sun how bright can you see this is time we tell us and then again then 

la bouche

 again on the full. and again. Ogham. I left lineation to the rest. the eyelid or the other one, the fist 

Joyce Cary Carey Joyce

Spliced the eye

Sees still as two 

So they say

The open has begun