Photography
is the waterfall
carved by the
elements, a river
bed ticking away,
layer by layer, the
salty, smoked scent
of sycamore mist.
Were the Humans Black or White?
No one really knows. Only a few fossilized
pieces of skin have ever been found, and
any colours would have faded long ago.
Perhaps they were pink as Himalayan salt,
dwelling on an impermanent altar of glass
or darker than the shadows cast by elm trees
around his neck, as if he wasn’t even allowed
the right to gasp.
The Feeling of Difference
To the ancient ones,
numbers were feelings
of addition and subtraction,
and without counting,
they knew how equality felt.
Monterey Bay (for Amy)
I remember it
without words
and how it wanted
to be spoken
the words with tails
and whiskers extending
as mycelial fans
twirling the sea’s air
all the way down
the walls of the lungs.
Finally
after roasting chicken
and asparagus on iron
hot stones, they held
each other, the same way
a turquoise moon holds
the storm clouds, pattering
on a lean-to roof made of twigs
and aluminum, somewhere
northwest of the Cedar River Flow.
Like Green Tea Bags
at the bottom
of the trash, I am
beautiful, yet soiled.
«VERWANDTES LESEN» POEMS BY JAMES FARWELL: From Moment to Moment, The Gift of Love and more»
image: George Payne
