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Point of Assembly : Watercolor on Canvas 24X36"It's at some pointjust behind the right shouldera place where we are taughtto fix attentionand there it coalesces.Last night it shiftedand I flew out of thethird floor window,saw my daughterand her friendentering the back doorbelowI stood on the wall outsidewatchinglike a clowndoing some stupid stunt,a trick,because everyone knowsI can't really walk on wallsbut somehow Ithink I couldimagine swimmingin warm living waterunder the night wirethe spotlights passingoverheadthe illicit wet flowingover new white skinlike liquid breathcaresses.I'm thinking that maybethis shifting is whatwe did before wefell off of the wallbefore all of the king's horsesbefore all of the king's menmadethis assemblythat maybe I shouldjustfall againlike maybe it's betterto be be brokenand shifting the dreamthen fixedand steel.Is this real?
Point of Assembly
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SheSpeaksTheFeelingOfTrees : Indian Ink, Bee’s Wax and Pigment on folded Paper18X25"   I heard you speak in Deep tones of Shadows Blue across the edge Of the field All the while The sound of chatter From the poolside Children Playing And you softly swirling Sublime silver leaves above me   Or was that you Roaring With the dead dry leaves Through the City alleys That night After the lights went out?   I stood in a seedy doorway While dark clouds Covered the moon Remembering The kindness Of the summer you   The still Midnight White marble cold Sand drift dunes Of our Soft animal bodies Sleep To dream dawn again
SheSpeaksTheFeelingOfTrees
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Mary'sCreekNightFog : Watercolor of clayboard panel18X24" It sounds like this, My feet in wet grass It feels like an instrument of falling, An unraveling Of fog whirling Through the moon trees The scent of something repulsive Draws me into her, An ecstatic fall From the cliff Into the canyon lake Tropical salt The glitter of snail slime Trails across the morning grass My footsteps Drawing nearer frightened Dry leaves cracked, A blue heron sailed from the lake Of flooded gray trees   I remember the day They erected The concrete barrier Between home and The wild trees   We weren’t made to dissipate Into the light We were made into the gray fog So quiet for all those years Seeing the dim moonlight Even where the canopy Closes above Blue light
Mary'sCreekNightFog
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