Extra Hidden Life, among the Days. Brenda Hillman

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Extra Hidden Life, among the Days - Brenda Hillman Wesleyan Poetry Series

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It is there

      when we die & when we are born,

      middle & upper branches reaching

      the planet heart by the billions

      during a revolution we don’t see.

      Quarks & leptons are cooling

      on their infant stems, spinning the spinning

      brain of matter, fled to electrical dark

      water, species with names the tree

      can hold in the shale shade brought

      by the ambulance of art;

      no one but you knows what occurred

      in the dress you wore in the dream

      of atonement, the displaced tree in

      the dream you wore, a suffering endurable

      only once, edges that sought release

      from envy to a more endurable loss,

      a form to be walked past, that has

      outworn the shame of time,

      its colors sprung through description

      above a blaze of rhizomes spreading

      in an arable mat that mostly

      isn’t simple but is calm & free—

      —seal pups ar-ar-ar- —

      & the skin of the soul felt a chill,

      especially the left side of the

      S, facing the Pacific (specific Pacific

      specific Pacific ar ar ar);

      sandstock burdock human s pines

      (does the s move toward pines or spines?)

      — buckwheat hardpan up a hill

      finding the rim of the miracle—

      fear blue shade sense

      blind made what tense

      pigmy cypress trill or hill

      (knowledge did not wreck experience—)

      weather warped & nations fell

      over the edge of the miracle—

      —What thus doth keep love safe, brittle rhymer

      —Depends on what you mean by safe, little climber

      (To know without fear the mind of another)

      Some friends had broken up—;

      i didn’t think they should,

      but still… (The bees had also

      flown away to the chrome woods—

      maybe the workers went ahead, but how?

      No one understood—) The lovers

      lifted yeses then a no …

      Why? (let’s not get into

      a whole thing about it …) Their hours never

      snagged despair; why could they

      not have loved each other more?

      One day the hive returned,

      like a gold thought in the gray

      context of an oversight …

      the lovers would find others

      all too soon with basic need less

      passionate than the first; i went on

      with my reading & the bees worked

      right up to the finished dusk

      as if their house

      would stay near mine in a drought-

      tested thicket remote in time—

      Transfixed by the bow

      only simply above: sighs of wood

      & horsehair breath of the cello,

      your azure perceptions /// …

      (does it perceive also?)

      as if pierced by saudades!

      This night far from your pain tangled

      with frog song

      (such distance to the next town)

      & your suffering cannot be measured—

       não a luar

      in this universal background—

      —to have made the mistake

      of not caring —for one day! —

      you stood in the parking lot …

      where, on the ground: globe

      of the wasp gall (the pupae

      cannot peek out

      through tiny Garamond ellipsis dots

      of the outer shell …)

      when suddenly, above:

       grrr rrrrr gimme gimme gimme

      squirrels trying to mate

      in the oak, the dire twain

      of their warring tails …

      (sex is so much trouble outdoors!)

      —the fear the loved ones

      would end up alone

      since

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