On the Sargasso Sea
The Sargass Sea Bishop by Yacek Yerka
Think of a houseboat floating over a sea of foaming moss so thick it seems anchored in green dunes despite its full-blown drift though it’s only a contrivance and whoever lives in it is obsessed with the passing of time: an alarm clock by the bed, a cuckoo at the entrance, a sundial at the threshold, a timer by the stove, a wooden clock on the dining table, an hourglass cresting the wall, a bell by the water clock, and let us not forget the telescope placed between the bottle of wine and the grapes, stalking the movement of stars. Grains of sand fall, a rhythm espousing the ticking of clocks: chimes and bells oscillate, muffled by surrounding haze, and there’s no room for fantasy: its dweller watches coffee drip drop by drop, is aware how long it takes to read each line on a page, successive seconds pervade his sleep, even his daydreams, nothing’s left to chance, only he knows deep inside he has become a clock within a clock, afraid of losing track; lost in that sea of moss, he’d still feel the thump of his own heartbeat.
First published by Poet Lore
From Under Brushstrokes (Press 53 2015)
After Richard E. Miller’s The Bather
A water sculpture, a spring erect in the shape of a woman, fluid as a mirror held to the awakening sycamores, soothing their albescent knots and twisted joints under shedding flakes of bark. Can’t you feel the moisture in her curves? At first glance you might think her about to bathe in the clear pool by the blue stones, but truly she is made of water and rose from it, a teaser slowly dropping an illusion of a wraparound garment that is really a sheet of water, still unable to break down and become woman, she projects her image over the young man lying down on the smooth rocks, face leaning on his bent elbow, he watches her appear and disappear, the sheets of water vanishing into mist in the early hours, stares at her skin flashing where the garment gapes, oscillating between life and death.
First published by Blue Fifth Review
From Under Brushstrokes (Press 53 2015)
The Colors of Dawn
a pantoum for peace
Spring rains wash out tears and winter fears
Doves dip their wings in the colors of dawn
Children gather fallen petals, feather and down
Let’s weave a tapestry with a thousand petals!
Doves dip their wings in the colors of dawn
Cherry blossoms cover the veined branches
Let’s weave a tapestry with a thousand petals
Invent a new alphabet to record our dreams!
Cherry blossoms cover the veined branches
Let’s paint windows and doors on stonewalls
Invent a new alphabet to record our dreams
Fingers string beads carved-out of olive pits!
Let’s paint windows and doors on stonewalls
Hang rosaries on the highest limbs and towers
Fingers string beads carved-out of olive pits
Small hands gather pebbles to erase borders!
First published by Life and Legends
From The Taste of the Earth (Press 53 2019)
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