Marcella Durand
Two poems
Reading Postures 6
When walking in the park we find a book
laid out as if to take a little sun, and in
an explosion of leafy ink, spread green
over a page of photosynthesis. Ourselves,
we require doses of close printing and a series
of large elms, branched vases rare and arcade-
like. They lead us down an avenue of statues
posed still amid a frenzy of breezes taking
pages away. A dog desecrates our roots and
makes us wonder at a landscape of trespasses.
When tracking down the marshes of planned
arrangement,
an egress flies up, pathways to the smuggling deeds
of a suspicious population. Here the portals of our
wonder
slide down the portage rivers. We cast the nets a little
wider
and haul in a library filled with the romance of
lichens.
Lichen darkens to ink, brings out the small thoughtful
touches
of a day spent reading shadows moving on the faces of
others.
Reading Postures 7
Within the spine are warlike beings
interior, a certain space of cushioned
joints, leading upwards to places where
each vertebrae is a lit candle & wavers
in wind caused by a word
spoken in a desert full of air.
A tendon replaces a street, stretched,
it reaches the length of a median.
Placing a foot behind an ear
makes one hear the distant thud
of a small distortion in axle alignments,
a cough, a bone thrown out, tracing
drawings made on equators and
doldrums, deltoid scrims, your
wrists & upwards, small movements
of eye blinking down, the cushion of
gravity, jowls, o rosy fruited pines
placed at the rims of softness, these
warlike beings, and candles burning
through wax, your tracings and mistakings.
When holding a cup full of wicks,
light one throughout the body,
center a fire in the gravity fall of place.
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