songs from another noon (day one)

photo by Sini Haapalinna of a photo by Daido Moriyama

i have a photograph of a photograph.
one moment in time, twice removed…
the first thing i notice is the way perspective
makes all lines meet in the end…
and of course, the way the light
meets the fog meets the air.
this is the glow we all want-
like the luminous promise
the horizon hands out twice a day.

sepia always sings of things
gone long time out of reach.

there are words written
along the length of these tracks
it’s just if you want to read them,
you have to stand in the way of the train.
or give up the solid and crushable human form,
become something else…
transparent and permeable.

*
her face is fading from me
moving, without sound,
away from the station
pulling away on the overnight train.

*

sometimes the world comes so clearly,
like a film, with lines for all the players:
tracks say: i have to go now…
telephone wires: i am tracing the way you leave…
train says: i carry the heartache, the hope, back and forth
and the station, (the station being a metaphor for itself)
the station has no need for words,
having so many times been home
to these endless human stories.

*

like waking from a dream
where your hands were full
of all the things
you don’t get to keep

walk the long length out of town,
tight-roping the quiet tracks
into the point where things disappear
into the empty of open hands…

© Katherine Ferrier 2008

how we share the sky (day seven)

This week of posts are inspired by a collaborative project initiated by an artist friend of mine who’s currently in grad school. The instructions I received were simply, once a day for the next seven days, to 1) show a part of my sky (something visual) and then 2) share something of myself (something textual). Each in our own locations, we will be doing this daily practice, recording the time and date of each piece and at the end of the seven days, exchanging what we have.

photo by katherine ferrier

up or down, north or south:
i’m telling you, there’s more than this.

we move in all directions.

shake out the prayer rugs!
lean dangerous through the space
where the window will be…

© Katherine Ferrier 2008

how we share the sky (day six)

This week of posts are inspired by a collaborative project initiated by an artist friend of mine who’s currently in grad school. The instructions I received were simply, once a day for the next seven days, to 1) show a part of my sky (something visual) and then 2) share something of myself (something textual). Each in our own locations, we will be doing this daily practice, recording the time and date of each piece and at the end of the seven days, exchanging what we have.

photo by katherine ferrier

tiny song at sunset goes:
look how much it takes
to stay in touch
to cross the line
to draw the space
to fill the air
to find the ways to send the words

when you stand near me,
we make parallel lines
up from the ground.
throwing our signals long into the air,
long into the distance.
we tangle for the speed of light, the perfect hit-
we settle for proximity.

in this lifetime, at least, we sing
move closer, dear
move closer to me
let me hear your speeding heart
let’s hum into the morning…

© Katherine Ferrier 2008

how we share the sky (day five)

This week of posts are inspired by a collaborative project initiated by an artist friend of mine who’s currently in grad school. The instructions I received were simply, once a day for the next seven days, to 1) show a part of my sky (something visual) and then 2) share something of myself (something textual). Each in our own locations, we will be doing this daily practice, recording the time and date of each piece and at the end of the seven days, exchanging what we have.

photo by katherine ferrier

i’ve been wanting to ask you:
may we also speak of things that fall?
we can’t use the word sky
without thinking the word ground.
everything that is
also holds its opposite.

if i show you my sky,
i must also show you the things that fell from it.
things shot down, ripped from the air,
pulled apart, feather by feather…

maybe there are two kinds of people
tell me, then…which one are you?
when you hear the word sky…
which word follows quicker…
fly…or fall…?

look up now. look down.
spend your life looking
in every direction.

© Katherine Ferrier 2008

how we share the sky (day four)

This week of posts are inspired by a collaborative project initiated by an artist friend of mine who’s currently in grad school. The instructions I received were simply, once a day for the next seven days, to 1) show a part of my sky (something visual) and then 2) share something of myself (something textual). Each in our own locations, we will be doing this daily practice, recording the time and date of each piece and at the end of the seven days, exchanging what we have.

photo by katherine ferrier

i didn’t mean to make it fancy.
i wasn’t trying for metaphor…
i only wanted to show you

something of the quiet way
the leaves had light around their edges.
something about the trees
around the border of the yard…
how they made a patient frame.

stillness, dear…
i was trying to show you stillness.

thought i was looking
at some quiet backyard breathing.

i didn’t plan on finding
white-fire orbits,
spinning holy in the backyard…

who is ever ready for the shock of angels?

© Katherine Ferrier 2008

how we share the sky (day three)

This week of posts are inspired by a collaborative project initiated by an artist friend of mine who’s currently in grad school. The instructions I received were simply, once a day for the next seven days, to 1) show a part of my sky (something visual) and then 2) share something of myself (something textual). Each in our own locations, we will be doing this daily practice, recording the time and date of each piece and at the end of the seven days, exchanging what we have.

photo by katherine ferrier

it was cold today-
the way cold can be
when it first comes back.
and i thought to myself,
(on the boylan heights bridge
the tracks below, heading away from town
through the nearly end of day kind of light,
there already, sooner than i wanted…)

i thought to myself, here we go…
time, again, for sweaters and hats
time, again, for prayer.

© Katherine Ferrier 2008

how we share the sky (day two)

This week of posts are inspired by a collaborative project initiated by an artist friend of mine who’s currently in grad school.  The instructions I received were simply, once a day for the next seven days, to 1) show a part of my sky (something visual)  and then 2) share something of myself (something textual).  Each in our own locations, we will be doing this daily practice, recording the time and date of each piece and at the end of the seven days, exchanging what we have.

photo by katherine ferrier

window panes
mica roads
rear view mirrors
her morning eyes
and all the other things
light loves to find
somewhere someone
sings for rain

© Katherine Ferrier 2008

how we share the sky (day one)

This week of posts are inspired by a collaborative project initiated by an artist friend of mine who’s currently in grad school. The instructions I received were simply, once a day for the next seven days, to 1) show a part of my sky (something visual) and then 2) share something of myself (something textual). Each in our own locations, we will be doing this daily practice, recording the time and date of each piece and at the end of the seven days, exchanging what we have.

photo by katherine ferrier

she came in sideways and left on the diagonal

what a pair of seemly missings:
(the one holding on, the other only reaching)
in shadow, we see what matters,
in silhouette, it all comes clear.

she says: I can only see this far
she answers: I can only hold this much

© Katherine Ferrier 2008

visible ribcage

photo by andrea ventura

friday, unfiltered

today i am out of devices
and the perception filters
gone missing again
today i am taking the world
as it is
verbatim and literal
no special effects or airbrushed fades
and i’m telling you this:

there is no instant replay dear
this is here here now now
there are crashes and collisions
and somatic betrayals at every turn
there is something burning and alive
there is decay and all the mess of possibility
and there is also
the highway hum, the lawnmower,
the fat cheeked squirrels, the lazy cat
the boys next door shouting and running
because they’re eleven, and they can.

i’m starving and there’s no time to cook
i’m eating it raw with my hands
with my aching and dirty impermanent hands

© Katherine Ferrier 2008