INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
Michael D. Long
Mary E. Finlan
A SPECIAL MODE OF PERCEPTION
I assume the roots above
Are holding hands
With roots underground, and the sand
Does not know or sense
The pulsations and the grip of wood
But the grackles that cross the sand
Leave foot tracks on the sand
And the foot tracks send messages
To black or brown and black feathers.
The tangential is rhizomatic,
Be it wood, or human hands.
A nearby willow tree that shadows
Wood ducks and the water,
Its shade twisted over her
Black wearing apparel to disappear,
Except for a trace on her little finger.
The shade moved over to become
A dark, vague, vaporous wedding ring.
White moths flutter over the grasses
Spiked seed pods and bring loneliness.
The choir of air sings higher notes;
Clipped the barbed wire of angels' wings.
The antennae of ants become audible,
It is the listening,
The listening that sinks the listener
Inside the earth and the wisdom of worms.