If facing the paper, your thought is 'I am an artist', you have no clue what to do. If the concepts of your function are, 'I am a shape maker, an entertainer, an expressive symbol collector'...then you have an explicit road map. Edgar Whitney

Saturday, April 10, 2010

10 April 2010

a time in the forest

and the woodman is indurate
sometimes he likes to sleep in Somerset
alone in the sand

on the other side of the planet
is a velveteen woman

they begin to walk
their steps rotate the world
never closing the distance

with her dressmaking scissors
she cuts the moon out of the sky

they throw it to each other
in endless relay
his smoke filled outline
begins to glow

for thanks
he leaves a trail
of thorns

the gathered punctures
bleed and tune
she adjusts the harmony
with each new wound

she bleeds out all music
and he has sole possession of the moon

he lifts it and sees
she has embroidered it
with French knots and grub roses
in threads of amethyst and bronze


  1. "their steps rotate the world" wonderful twist. "with her dressmaking scissors / she cuts the moon out of the sky" yet another vivid, immediate image. Love it, Marisa. I really enjoy your gift for re-presenting intimacy, in ways that are curious and new.

  2. PS. Just checking: is final stanza as intended? "he lights it" or a typo for " he lifts it"? either works =)

  3. It's 'lights it'. But I kind of like 'lifts it', like he's hanging it up again. Might change it. This poem came out of the 'writing through' exercise on Joanna's blog. Going to have a crack at part two today. I so appreciate your comments, Greg :)

  4. this poem invites reading over and over, sometimes from different points as you might find yourself in one part of the day suddenly conscious and engaged with some detail of sound or light