Human systems exist in the mystery
always at the point of spilling
over green, over and over their present containers
of cities and grids and human perception
for what of entanglements, what of catastrophes
what of black holes, of soot from burnt timber
what of seashells, snails, urchins in the pavement
of ancient Greek settlements
what of cats, what of pale bones of anchovies
that fishermen leisurely strip and drop in buckets of murky waters,
how objects tell their tales when we let them
spinning off like water from a wheel that springs energy
or the way traffic sighs like clouds that go quiet before a storm
I put myself in the mess of it, nothing is left out
of the divine kakosmos, life is in life, it lives and dies and flows,
gulls weep like dogs
stones at the railing of a palazzo split like petals of a tulip,
a resting place for sentries with bow and arrow
we’re on a precipice, a man in the street wears red,
an alarm, warning to others, a human biological response when things don’t decompose
Maybe I’m dreaming in the haze with its gleam on my railing,
I dream of bridges, renewal of the world that is also the mind’s renewal
eggs stuck with a few stalks of hay held by manure
fecundity recycled back into a rose
Jill Pearlman’s poetry explores ecstasy in the decentered self and world. Her sequence “L’Eau and Behold” was recently shortlisted in La Piccioletta Barca. Her poems have appeared in Salamander, Barrow Street, OSR, Crosswinds, andIndicia. She produced the multimedia “Trees Road Vertigo,” documenting the fate of plane trees in France.
