So who would stand still at the smile of a bear? Only our
Amerindians, their eyes and ears our flow past conductors,
through whom configuring sails once tacked. In bed
rock fables river crafts they interleave the sun (who knows
what the sun comes up with these days).
No bears in our rainforest, so no way to test our hammock
hung devices, climb the encrypted
peace on their faces, find out what we're truly made of.
Easier to test this article: a blade resets in every sheath denied
its beard lush faith: slide it out slit a wind
pipe blood wipe on sleeve or leaf then slip
it back: dare the darkening gap prove there was even the intent
to harm.
Though since forensics can expose an Eden we do not
condone relations with the leaf
becomes a copy carbon risk we should maybe get rid of?
Fascia weaves untie, my friends, from whip lash together.
Most now watch quietly pray
post card credits pay.
Rust claims anchors spice wharves music chairs in the gardens.
So who needs cast iron beams when our Amerindians can
build a conical thatched pavilion
that screens our heritage seams? It burns to the ground? honorific
men can walk on water
extend a hose from a hire truck; put sonnet estimates of loss
left flickering out.
Come on, aging coast guards slide
rule ambition moon light hem lines. It's in our bylaws
of nature. What's the matter with you, anyway?
Not a day goes by without more grist for the mill. Wait,
wait refresh that ̶ pixels for the pick axe, breach stain
for the sniff hounds. I'm saying, you can't plant this dig
this stuff back up here.
– W.W.
DECISION IN THE DESERT
To reaffirm the one vital fire
in zones where no flame seems
able to blaze is not
a seed beyond hope of fruition
and may not be a seed
at all but the tree of fire itself,
the eager burning within you, all
you can know of the Sun.
But to keep on searching
for fire-gold within trenches you know
are hollow is the dilatory
feint of addicts of fear.
So let the ghosts of flint or sigh tell
you whether you should stake
an oasis claim or
keep walking through your latest mirage.
(from "Nor Like An Addict Would" © by Brian Chan)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 