the street regretlessly carried on

title== lisa gordon



canadian style daisies bloom
in the side yard. today i took the seedlings
transplanted them to the front
where the ripped roots of the orangeweed
left an empty space.
its flowers
are bedraggled, tattered bee
wings, an anodyne for hive.
persistence of a different stripe
needs purchase here.

glow cube in the window pane
color of absinthe & absense crawls
into numbers, additions lost
in t- minus calculus. the wind whips
across water starved grass
begging for more or less
what is missing in speed.

it strikes me that some alignment
of faith or perhaps subaudible loop
keeps powering the will to make honey.
science confirms this in various degrees
using different specimens and rigors.

masks of greek proportions filter
into the day time dream. i can't believe
i'm still searching for some objective truth
when my logic tells me i've found it
and it doesn't exist.

there are the hospital bed whites
of a heron on takeoff over my pond
late afternoon before the sky tinges
with reds, the grace in the angle
of light's fall. all this beauty in a drive by
moment, an after work reward.

i've turned a spindly tree overgrown
with vines into a creature that morphs
depending on the wind's directions.
it's no secret that i'm air, seeking mist
so i ask its various masks what are clouds
dreaming? it keeps mum,
bowing to the left and right yes and no
laughing in this i ching air.


in like a lion, out like a lamb
they say. i'm expecting sacrifice
at every moment. i heard the more
you give the more you take away
i've been into subtraction since childbirth.



already there's sufi for breakfast
and resonance as a chaser. sorry i missed
your call, but i want you
to try again. some black ribbon
connects us still, you know.
we could, any one of us, drive it someday.