The Bow, the String, the Archer

Imagine a bow, the force in the arrow
if the archer let go of what he holds
to his chin: that string which he draws
back with two fingers as if a horseman
or a charioteer controlling his horse,
or the relationship between the poet
and the syntax. To be a good archer
is all about the way you pluck it, the string
you hold, and how you release it: the twang
must drrr as you shiver: a long shaking,
all but strong. Also the eye is important:
For aim, of course: remember to squint.
There's a string, and there's an archer.
Together, you are the restrainer and
the releaser.


/

Imagine a bow, the force in the arrow
if the bowman let go of what he holds
to his chin: that string which he draws
back with two fingers as if a horseman
or a charioteer controlling his horse,
or that relationship between the poet
and the syntax. How far the arrow
goes comes from how he plucks it,
the string he holds, and how he releases it:
the twang must drrr the way you shiver:
a long shaking, all but strong. If the arrow
is the force, the bow is the holder,
the archer the restrainer, the string
the releaser, when released.

On Icarus

Icarus the meteor, wing and wax

the scattered rocks. Remember, there

is only this much and this

much of wax today; if from

him, then from what wax held,

loosened over the Aegean Sea

his wings.


No one today will wax

a stone floor, if of limestone,

of granite, if of marble etc.,

they will leave it, keep the stone

colour: like lime, hive, like the coyote’s

fur-like cargo. Nor will many remember

Daedalus and his son who in crossing,

yes, a calm sea, sea-plunged from heat.

There was a splash, and the plowers

continued to plow.



/



Icarus is the sunlight, wax and wing
the warmth, the painted flesh
to be cut apart. Why did he fall
if his wings were by wax fastened?
What wax we use today, is it from him,
that sea-plummet; is it what was left:
why we can wax the floor
and zeal the letter?

Two Parts of the Very Same Story: Fragments

How the tip of a wing
splits us apart at sunrise;
we are where reality
and illusion meet


¤


How the light of a street lamp
spreads as only itself does;
the man who steps into, now out of
a light we call

Sacred,

sacred
star.