eris23

i like the poem so much i'm leaving it up. but since the question has come up, yes, i am leaving france in 9 1/2 hours, assuming the plane takes off on time. and boy do i wish i was asleep right now, as it's 2:25am and the airport van gets here at 8.
the packing has been very easy. when we left canada, it was...hell. left so much behind, but if we had it now we would need (yet) another bag. i don't even know why i'm complaining. i think i am just tired. i am certainly glad to be going home, though it seems i have only just now got the hang of this current life. onward, to 2 more years of transience!
catch y'all from the next continent...

Nass River

Tent tethered among jackpine and blue-
bells. Lacewings rise from rock
incubators. Wild geese flying north.
And I can't remember who I'm supposed
to be.

I want to learn how to purr. Abandon
myself, have mistresses in maidenhair
fern, own no tomorrow nor yesterday:
a blank shimmering space forward and
back. I want to think with my belly.
I want to name all the stars animals
flowers birds rocks in order to forget
them, start over again. I want to
wear the seasons, harlequin, become
ancient and etched by weather. I
want to be snow pulse, ruminating
ungulate, pebble at the bottom of the
abyss, candle burning darkness rather
than flame. I want to peer at things,
shameless, observe the unfastening,
that stripping of shape by dusk.
I want to sit in the meadow a rotten
stump pungent with slimemold, home
for pupae and grubs, concentric rings
collapsing into the passacaglia of
time. I want to crawl inside someone
and hibernate one entire night with
no clocks to wake me, thighs fragrant
loam. I want to melt. I want to swim
naked with an otter. I want to turn
insideout, exchange nuclei with the
Sun. Toward the mythic kingdom of
summer I want to make a blind motion,
using my ribs as a raft, following
the spiders as they set sail on their
tasselled shining silk. Sometimes
even a single feather's enough
to fly

by Robert MacLean 1985