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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
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
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