Audubon. Mourning Dove
Led home into oblivion
the sociable talk of
our slow eyes.
Led home, syllable after syllable, shared
out among the dayblind dice, for which
the playing hand reaches out, large,
And the too much of my speaking:
heaped up round the little
crystal dressed in the style of your silence.
Engraving by Catherine or Elisabeth Haussard, from Mémoires pour servir à l’histoire des insectes, by René-Antoine Ferchault de Reaumur::Mount Holyoke Archives & Special Collections::1734
Reaumur’s observations of wasps chewing and spitting out wood to build their papery nests eventually led to the idea of making paper from wood pulp.
about this kind of love
but I refuse to lose it.
The sun scorches. The plane flies low
throwing a shadow in the form of a large cross rushing forward on the ground.
A man is crouching in the field at something.
The shadow comes.
For a fraction of a second he is in the middle of the cross.
I have seen the cross that hangs under cool church vaults.
Sometimes it’s like a snapshot
of something in violent movement.