February 04, 2007

The ambush

The light is waiting
        flexible and jagged
at the end of the passage.

This elastic ink
is getting there again
slowly, unaware.

It becomes crisp and alive
for a moment:
a clear-cut tree
a hillful of trees
olive trees against a tramontana sky.

Then the ambush snaps.

Rippled and sucked
by a greedy south
ink and wind
are swallowed, whole.

Through the very gate, over the threshold
thoughts and branches
words and leaves
bones and pebbles
flesh and soil
melt together in a silent sigh:
they acknowledge with a chill
the power
that deals them such a light death
and then delivers their ghosts
into a black & white flat heaven. . .

—Riccardo Duranti
from Poems in lieu of an essay on poems

Posted by dwaber at February 4, 2007 05:49 PM