Wednesday, November 14

The forest is the only place
where green is green and blue is blue.
Walking the forest I have seen
most everything. I've seen a you
with yellow eyes and busted wing.
And deep in the forest, no one knew.
 - Wendy Videlock

North of Mist
Just north of mist,
along the border,
  half a color
from the water,
under the kiss
of shadow's daughter,
  (two breaths backward,
one word upward),
past the rumpled
terra cotta,
  down the salve
of templed sorrow,
up the scales
of Bach, and Buddha,
     down the moon
of broken solder,
through the eyes
of someone's father,
    in the grass
beside the water;
one part liar,
one part seer,
    one part lyric,
one part scholar,
this is the walk
we come to wander,
    one part illness,
one part healer.
 - Wendy Videlock

  • ". . . as I have said often enough, I write for myself in multiplicate,
    a not unfamiliar phenomenon on the horizon of shimmering deserts."
    - Vladimir Nabokov