Hillary Keel: Brainlingo

Fall '12 TOC

1.
 
Bear at River
 
 
I swipe the iridescence, flicker
in diamond flow. A rocky bound,
leap then grab between jaws and
teeth or claws: fling, splash to snatch,
to slice and swallow. Their life is
mine, sweet scales with flesh and
river wriggle wash through; their
delicate bones, their eyes and
eggs now mine, their struggle
my delight.
 
 
 
 
 
2.
 
Cow Sniffing Grasses before Biting
 
or
 
Vorfreude
 
 
The moment, the tickle and itch; you
never know if I tried, but will not
venture from velvet petal, feathery
mint, apple leaf and gooseberry. My
shanks and knees with heaviness
of milk, I lie full, a leathery balloon,
behooved to swish and the still of
sway, my sense to sniff drunkenly,
I dream of fog and fly, a thorny bush,
a field way off.
 
 
 
 
 
3.
 
Peacock Lady Watches
 
 
I, from the above, a stage view
whispers, the oyster hunt! Though
golden in nature to earth an opalescent
twister or breeze to stir, a diamond eddy
to her velveteen meadow, and they
wonder, "What's this?" and "I'll choke
to death," and disparage my wish. "Can't
you plant the dust in the sky?"
one suggests. As if my furl and fling
made all the difference.
 
 
 
 
 
4.
 
A Golden Feather
Falls to Earth
 
 
Oh wonder! Of calamus, rachis, and
barbs like fish scales and lizards'
eyes: the angle changes shades
to fall flat or waver in new
depths, it wafts to hook
in swirls of breeze, circling.
I watch its light and curve fall
far from, to me, this watery shine.
It touches down to move and shape
the echo rounds like a clock tolling outwards
 
 
 
 
 
5.
 
I am amazed
I am undone
 
 
But this? Oh, look, this! And now? Am
I to? Ah! That. There. Yes. Yes. How?
Yes, I see myself golden. Still more.
The other? Over side stream. Other
has heavy. "My aching shoulder hurts,"
I cry, "please fetch me." Of course! Oh,
but the light here, look! I see deep. It
hums. There's more sparkle, the shine
of rocks and grass, the angle and spectrum;
the sky, the circles, a buzz.
 
 
 
 
 
6.
 
How to?
 
 
Beyond reach and home, this pack,
the silver river spoke nothing, to
adjust the territory and defining of
why. Sharp claws displaced, I have
promises! I have time and fur to
trudge, to cross arches, I've packed
the pouch I'll wear, but if I've lost
my way once! The fish are heavy
gifts and no use here. I look for
feather, the voice, its landing.
 
 
 
 
 
7.
 
Landing
 
 
Feathery hue falls softly fluid
in circles my gift of air, hair and
hollow bone flies walkers and trudgers
flies hecklers and lovers, the players
who skip and squeal. Watch for pliancy
and lengthening, for spread and breadth
like fans of cedar panes unfold, the lift
sets to levitate and balance. But where?
No matter. Just breathe and prance,
lithe through day and night.
Not Enough Night
Not Enough Night
© 2012 Naropa University