By JAIME ROBLES.
Gray black and burnt brown.
A feverish dissolution or reclamation of the body
The memory of rain drifts through openings, slides into the earth.
Breath, escaping, wings cloudward.
What if we were to open our mouths
And thin strands of color spilled out,
To spin the gray of sky
On the edge of ash
I reach for threads
To pull and separate –
In the room there are lamps
On every table
The shades forming umbrellas
On the inside
Is light and warmth
July’s day sky
And words spilling
Out like children’s
Bright new teeth
My palms offer an opening
Dissolves the dark
Sews red into indigo
Into day’s cerulean blue
Wind splits the trees into
Hundreds of wavelets
Listen. There is attachment here
In the dark purple, near black, of the scabiosa
Pincushioning across the white and green
Of ivy. In the voluptuous muteness
Of leaves and climbing growth. Heart-shaped
Leaves of cream streaked at the edge in green
In the whorl of ear notes fall and fade
Vibrations relayed along fronds
A spoked wheel revolving along unused paths.
Aloud but unheard in the summer
Heat. The cellular strength of near black
An assertion of red, smoke of indigo
Rain begins to fall
And she is
Words cluster around each sensation
Action wafts time into air
JAIME ROBLES is a writer and visual artist. She has produced many artist books, including Loup d’Oulipo, Letters from Overseas, and Aube/Afternoon. Her collections Anime Animus Anima and Hoard were published by Shearsman Books. Most recently, she edited and designed Cobalt Blue, a selection of writing by the abstract expressionist Sam Francis.