First thing though, is bark: I left Australia last year with about two hundred pictures… of bark. Most were species of unidentified eucalyptus.
I’ll probably write longer poems about this series of bark one day…
And so to the beginning of the lost series. Lost, gone, lost and still around… On to round one, lost too:
flies, secrets anews.
the bindweed knows the exact more disordered than ordered if moment of dusk when to duskly begin to shut down and be dusk/ there are always many systems, and spring which has arrived early plays the game, but in earnest. flies, morgan. a few short days ago, settled in/we creates secrets anews amuse and a language to speak them. somewhere overhead a nightbird.
And from a poem written long ago by Margaret Atwood (I’m into pigs these days, maybe it’s ham time coming up at Easter…)
This is the last verse:
I am yours. If you feed me garbage,
I will sing a song of garbage.
This is a hymn.
© Margaret Atwood. Selected Poems 1965-1975. Houghton Mifflin Company
Have a happy April 5th.