You were talking so much from both sides of your mouth,
you never could hear what I said.
So this is the crucible.
This, the crux.
in the golden month,
I listen to listen to the lion.
Embrace sovereign ferocity,
Resist, without cruelty.
I want to be in the body unseen,
I want to be in the body,
Sovereign, monarchs in the milkweed,
a source of light within,
a lingering but continual movement forward
toward the source.
We are wind- and storm-battered,
and still unfinished.
Two faces never stopped talking,
and I wore the forked moon like a crown.
I still could not make him hear me.
i am too angry to see or hear birds. but soon this place will center me again. begin with cicadas, high in the oaks. let the sound drown out the other. and now, here and there. cardinal. goldfinch. it is too bright. the birds are all just silhouettes. bird facades. I cannot distinguish. meadowlark. bobolink. blue jay. thistle and mullein and dragonflies. song sparrow. sulphur. robin. bluebird. another bluebird. dripping sweat. goldfinches fearless and close. the berries are the perfect ripe. like the fluffy seeds, I want to share them. patience. patience. towhee. goldfinches. prairie coneflower and bee balm. a very big swallowtail. mosquito bite. there will be more. anger and relenting. there will be more. unforgiven, there will be more.
you spoil me, so I miss you. cormorant. purple martin. water lilies. i get dizzy standing. you couldn’t wait for waking. and I can find you easy.
Tanager. joe pye. goldenrod almost ready.
say the words. say it with me.
leave me Alone.
fieldnotes was written at the Marsh beginning Sept. 26, 2016 and ending near the same time in the following year, collected in memo books over the course of many rambling walks.
Beginning on Sept. 26, 2019, three years after the writing, fieldnotes will be published in its entirety, with posts appearing as the corresponding write-dates occur.
(at least to the best of my ability)