Itinerary
i.
Burnt by lightning nevertheless
she’ll walk this terra infinita
lashes singed on her third eye
searching definite shadows for an indefinite future
Old shed-boards beaten silvery hang
askew as sheltering
some delicate indefensible existence
Long grasses shiver in a vanished doorway’s draft
a place of origins as yet unclosured and unclaimed
Writing cursive instructions on abounding air
If you arrive with ripe pears, bring a sharpened knife
Bring cyanide with the honeycomb
call before you come
ii.
Let the face of the bay be violet black the tumbled torn
kelp necklaces strewn alongshore
Stealthily over time arrives the chokehold
stifling ocean’s guttural chorales
a tangle
of tattered plastic rags
iii.
In a physical world the great poverty would be
to live insensate shuttered against the fresh
slash of urine on a wall
low-tidal rumor of a river’s yellowed mouth
a tumor-ridden face asleep on a subway train
What would it mean to not possess
a permeable skin
explicit veil to wander in
iv.
A cracked shell crumbles.
Sun moon and salt dissect the faint
last grains
An electrical impulse zings
out ricochets
in meta-galactic orbits
a streak of nervous energy rejoins the crucible
where origins and endings meld
There was this honey-laden question mark
this thread extracted from the open
throat of existence—Lick it clean!
—let it evaporate—
............................................................
Burnt by lightning nevertheless
she’ll walk this terra infinita
lashes singed on her third eye
searching definite shadows for an indefinite future
Old shed-boards beaten silvery hang
askew as sheltering
some delicate indefensible existence
Long grasses shiver in a vanished doorway’s draft
a place of origins as yet unclosured and unclaimed
Writing cursive instructions on abounding air
If you arrive with ripe pears, bring a sharpened knife
Bring cyanide with the honeycomb
call before you come
ii.
Let the face of the bay be violet black the tumbled torn
kelp necklaces strewn alongshore
Stealthily over time arrives the chokehold
stifling ocean’s guttural chorales
a tangle
of tattered plastic rags
iii.
In a physical world the great poverty would be
to live insensate shuttered against the fresh
slash of urine on a wall
low-tidal rumor of a river’s yellowed mouth
a tumor-ridden face asleep on a subway train
What would it mean to not possess
a permeable skin
explicit veil to wander in
iv.
A cracked shell crumbles.
Sun moon and salt dissect the faint
last grains
An electrical impulse zings
out ricochets
in meta-galactic orbits
a streak of nervous energy rejoins the crucible
where origins and endings meld
There was this honey-laden question mark
this thread extracted from the open
throat of existence—Lick it clean!
—let it evaporate—
............................................................
Two Poems
from The Lamiyya
After al-Shanfara
On leftovers ana breakfast like the spleenish wulf the wéstenas chase.
He sets out hungry, nose in the wind, up the wulfhleoþu.
After a luckless trek, he gilleþ; and gaunt companions answer
(Greyed out, thin as yarrow stalks
Or like bees bereaved by a honey thief,
Their mouths agape— jaws like hacked tree trunks).
He gellende and they gellende across the desert forum.
He standing and they standing blinking sympathy at one another.
He complaining and they complaining then mutually turning away—
Comforted. Wita sceal geþyldig.
He turning back and they turning back on ófost.
Earm ánhaga hiding his wretchedness.
* * *
Often ana remember a night so cold a hunter might even burn his æscas—
Ana stalked the gloam with my sidekicks, hunger and misery,
And made martiras of women and children before the pitch-black lifted.
And next day at al-Ghumaysa ana overheard—
“Our hundas barked and we thought, Is it a wulf prowling? a nihtgenge?
But they only growled once then curled back to sleep,
So we thought, Is it a sandgrouse or beardleás?
But if it was a scinn, his ambush was stunning
But if it was a man . . . what kind of man does this?”
Often, when the dog days bartered mirages for vipers
Ana bared my face to the sun with nothing but my ravaged coat,
My hair wild— long, wild locks—
Years since styled with gel or deloused.
For ana have crisscrossed a printless windsele
And ana have drawn the wilderness around me
Perched on windigum næssum squatting or standing.
There, fawning goats like virgins trailing skirts
Took their afternoon rest with me as if ana were their billy
With my white legs and long horns picking through the mountain pass
Ever receding high among the caves.
NOTES
ana/ána: I/alone (Arabic/Anglo-Saxon)
wulf: wolf
wéstenas: deserts
wulfhleoþu: wolf-slopes
gellan (gilleþ, gellende): to yell (yells, yelling); also used of stringed instruments
wita sceal geþyldig: “a wise man must be patient”
ófost: haste
earm ánhaga: “the solitary wretch”
æscas: spears
martiras: martyrs
nihtgenge: hyena
beardleás: hawk
scinn: phantom
windsele: wind-hall; hell
windigum næssum: windblown crags
After al-Shanfara
On leftovers ana breakfast like the spleenish wulf the wéstenas chase.
He sets out hungry, nose in the wind, up the wulfhleoþu.
After a luckless trek, he gilleþ; and gaunt companions answer
(Greyed out, thin as yarrow stalks
Or like bees bereaved by a honey thief,
Their mouths agape— jaws like hacked tree trunks).
He gellende and they gellende across the desert forum.
He standing and they standing blinking sympathy at one another.
He complaining and they complaining then mutually turning away—
Comforted. Wita sceal geþyldig.
He turning back and they turning back on ófost.
Earm ánhaga hiding his wretchedness.
* * *
Often ana remember a night so cold a hunter might even burn his æscas—
Ana stalked the gloam with my sidekicks, hunger and misery,
And made martiras of women and children before the pitch-black lifted.
And next day at al-Ghumaysa ana overheard—
“Our hundas barked and we thought, Is it a wulf prowling? a nihtgenge?
But they only growled once then curled back to sleep,
So we thought, Is it a sandgrouse or beardleás?
But if it was a scinn, his ambush was stunning
But if it was a man . . . what kind of man does this?”
Often, when the dog days bartered mirages for vipers
Ana bared my face to the sun with nothing but my ravaged coat,
My hair wild— long, wild locks—
Years since styled with gel or deloused.
For ana have crisscrossed a printless windsele
And ana have drawn the wilderness around me
Perched on windigum næssum squatting or standing.
There, fawning goats like virgins trailing skirts
Took their afternoon rest with me as if ana were their billy
With my white legs and long horns picking through the mountain pass
Ever receding high among the caves.
NOTES
ana/ána: I/alone (Arabic/Anglo-Saxon)
wulf: wolf
wéstenas: deserts
wulfhleoþu: wolf-slopes
gellan (gilleþ, gellende): to yell (yells, yelling); also used of stringed instruments
wita sceal geþyldig: “a wise man must be patient”
ófost: haste
earm ánhaga: “the solitary wretch”
æscas: spears
martiras: martyrs
nihtgenge: hyena
beardleás: hawk
scinn: phantom
windsele: wind-hall; hell
windigum næssum: windblown crags
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