Updated April 25, 2007
Note: My goal with this piece is to pay attention to minute detail. I hope to describe textural definition and shed light on the ability of the eye to focus in on the extraordinary.
The stone slate, broken in uneven slabs,
Cemented to form a courtyard floor,
By the town hall, in Ashland,
Is laid on by lime green needles
That fell from the shady trees whose
Leaves look like miniature, green, unpainted
Oriental fans. Or like giant algae,
The size of a baby’s hand.
Scaly chips of flowers
Who have passed from their youth at the end
Of a stem to this iridescent slate
Touch the stone delicately, like an old woman’s hand
Illuminated in the moonlight, touched to
Her lovers face.
In some cracks, brown green piles
Of the needles, and some mulch chips gather.
An ant zig zags.
He carries something: A bite of a fallen flower
(Oversized fly wings, but white and pink)
All crisp and flaky like paper, and dead.
He marches off with his prize.
And another one goes, frantically.
The ants move, more than before, the longer
The gaze holds, focusing in as binoculars, the more ants appear.
They skim the stone as uncontrolled
As Children driving bumper cars.