Two birds hold a ledge black under bloated clouds then four perch two by two until flight flushes each one equally nowhere.
I am where the rise and fall cease to meet where simply morning is spring Mexican orange tree blossom all told and telling of nothing no who in the thicket sunpocked to hear.
On the corner the building is gone with a figure I can’t remember brushed on its gray shutter an unavoidable curve an unrecognizable spiral I didn’t know every- time was a climax looping out of reach toward destruction.
How can it last, this headline world of shortcuts carved daily in no space and time?
Outside the window beyond the kitchen sink narcissus in yellow bloom.
(This dream-inspired prose poem is from 2001. Today, sadly, it is no longer a dream. O Pakistan! O world! O greed, anger and ignorance!) BENAZIR BHUTTO IN THAT WITHOUT TIME TIME OF EVERNESS NOW Tea time is a gathering of last night’s dreaming fragments of not where I have been but illuminations of where I [...]