Azimuth: Writing on Walls

This project has been archived at Santa Fe Poetry Broadside. I’m also adding it here.
Azimuth: Writing on Walls
Miriam Sagan, John Tritica, Sabra Moore, Terry Mulert, Phyllis Hoge,
Dale Harris, Stefi Weisburd, Paula Castillo, Steve Peters, Mera Wolf,
Ephia, J. A. Lee, JB Bryan, Abigail Doan, Suzanne Sbarge, Jeff Gburek

Type and installation design, Kim Arthun; photographs by Matthew Marston

Miriam Sagan

Statement About the Project
AZIMUTH: Writing On Walls
There are several collaborative sources of inspiration for this installation. In 2007-2008 I was a frequent visitor to The Land/An Art Site and created a long poem or “map” of the site. An outtake of this was installed as a sculpture “Laundry Line Koan.” But as in many creative experiences, there were leftover images, poems and ideas about the site. When E. Nuevo asked me to create a text that could be written on the walls of the LAND/gallery I went back to the original experience. Since boundary lines and directions were important, I focused on the four directions for four sections of poetry. As in a planetarium, these directions are both actual (the walls of the gallery) and a metaphoric closed system with each other.
I then set up a collaborative process with four small teams of poets. The North team was given the last line of my North section, etc. The poets added a link or stanza in turn, passing the poem by e-mail. This process was a lose version of the Japanese renga or renku, where all poets involved see the entire work as it evolves, unlike the surrealist exquisite corpse poem where much of the work is hidden until the end. Essentially the teams of poets were writing free verse renga, or linked verse. Of the fifteen poets, the majority are from Albuquerque but are also from throughout New Mexico, the country, and the world.
The last part of the project is a scroll which has one final remaining stanza of the group poem. Visitors to the gallery can add a link or stanza to the scroll at will. Metaphorically, the poem can then roll unfettered into the world. The final collaborative element is the actual writing on walls. Kim Arthun has designed the typography so that the text had its own visual integrity. In this way it goes from being words to being environment, or back to the original source of the poem in the first place.
***
Miriam Sagan–SOUTH

South

Azimuth–arc
distance between fixed horizon
and moving object
(from the Arabic)

like a stone wall
and solstice
the body the sea the past

how as a child
you were sure
you’d see Easter Island—
after all
how far could it be
once you got
away

***
John Tritica, Sabra Moore, Terry Mulert, Phyllis Hoge–SOUTH

South

good fortune
of the eyes
took over

you used to wear glasses
for distance
you engaged
in abstract thinking

while sparrow and redstarts
saw with their feet
and dreamt of walking
without fear
of touching ground

yet knowing that dreams do not confront

the real cat hidden in the clover
they fluttered their feathers and took to the air

phrase eye sets flight
sculpts the wing
describes paw track    tendons
relieves light touch freely

fractured burr
one spot of green
they settle and forget

their pantomime

suddenly mistakes drift down through branches
old plums, love letters, cotton parachutes
a portrait of you sitting on the wall

the sound of dead leaves is
a chance

—a meaningless chance-rattle in the chill
and the ringbirds scatter
sketching a flight on blue paper

***

Miriam Sagan–NORTH

North

yellow sunflowers
on both sides
of the road
double yellow line
only color
in this overcast
hand-tinted
late afternoon
photograph

***

Dale Harris, Stefi Weisburd, Paula Castillo–NORTH

North

this dry, dappled light
obscures some features,
exalts the rest.

face blurred by a struck match,
a james dean look-a-like,
makes a long shadow in the prairie grass

his flatness a leaf
on the edge
of the pig pen and trailer

from an attic trunk —
smells of camphor, vanilla
ribbon tied letters, an Army hat;
dreams that outlast the dreamer.

come, set your camera down
step into the wind-blown scents,
lie on the grass like a leaf
shadowless

be tiny and haughty
with rolled up fists and wrappers
the hole in your pocket
provokes the ant

***

Miriam Sagan–EAST

East

an unembroidered bird
flaps in the wind
air’s fossil prayer flag

half moon
whistle
mirror
rustle

packrats steal
my clothespins
wedding slip, white gauze dress flap
I danced the feet off
my stockings
stained the shoes
green with grass

half moon hangs like laundry in the daytime sky
moon that scours
the blue

***

Steve Peters, Mera Wolf, Ephia, J. A. Lee–EAST

East

face of the hillside
wind whistles through cholla spines
the grasses, reverent

renascent, sweet with
seed reaching firm lament
reflected, burnishing stars

 quick
ears of hare, track
center of stone
a perfectly round emptiness
which hangs from
a claw of the juniper

the breeze, shifting, barely rustles
fencepost, cricket, star

nothing to hear
nothing to see
watch and listen
everything trembles

unknown
fecundity anticipating flights
distance
not with standing time
plane beyond place

dry
thin river climbs
  falling
  with
  out
  legs

where shadows
pool under low branches

where’s the moon?

***

Miriam Sagan–WEST

West

Venus as evening star
gone (underworld)
rising as morning
ballcourt
Pleiades
twins     east-west

flooded salt flats
choked with clouds

light that limps
on its uneven legs
from equinox to solstice

(what is it)
a nest
for the invisible
bird.

***

JB Bryan, Abigail Doan, Suzanne Sbarge–WEST

West

old song
as path with same moon
known by aim
& agile glimpse
blinking in the bright light
I hear
wings flapping
bird gurgling
threading & lacing the horizon
with seeded strands of footpath
finds broken twigs,
scratched earth
reveal who has come before
mingled with my own track
dusty boots stumble,
leashes tangle
shiny crows laugh in unison
only the train’s whistle
pierces this sanctuary
like potsherds
that poke through the topsoil
and reveal the migrations of travelers past
as always, what is new is what is old
who listened to what sound then?
eating juji fruit to pass the time
chewing loudly
I drop a few so I can be found
cholla sentinels mark the way
as time resonates
  with lunar feathers

***

Opening Poem on the Scroll
• Jeff Gburek

By Light, By Dark
(opening poem on the scroll)

by light

stillness of surface, slated
to crumble, when a rage of water rips through the arroyo
no longer seco
water on which torn boughs tremble and bob
waded through, brown stream
full and blinding sun

by dark

the nightlife of quick society crickets
and above, stars near enough
to seem some earth-seeking seeds
rather an image of me, man
seeking beyond
thrown into the limits of his world

***

About the Poets

Miriam Sagan
Miriam Sagan was born in Manhattan, raised in New Jersey, and educated in Boston. She holds a B.A. with honors from Harvard University and an M.A. in Creative Writing from Boston University. She settled in Santa Fe in 1984. She is the author of over twenty books, and directs the creative writing program at Santa Fe Community College.
John Tritica, Sabra Moore, Terry Mulert, Phyliss Hoge : South

John Tritica’s translations of Swedish poet Niklas Törnlund All Things Measure Time appeared in 1992. His books of poems are How Rain Records Its Alphabet (1998) and Sound Remains (2008). A spoken word CD, John Tritica Reads at Acequia Booksellers in Albuquerque, NM, was issued by Vox Audio this year. Together with Mary Rising Higgins, he is a founding member of L)Edge, a poetry circle, which began in 1986.

Sabra Moore is a Texas-born artist and writer living in Abiquiu, New Mexico. Her art work is based on re-interpreting family, social, & natural history through the form of artist’s books and sewn & painted “constructed” sculptures and wall works. She sees herself as a “literate” granddaughter who has synthesized the quiltmaking/storytelling traditions of her rural grandmothers into new forms. She has written and illustrated a book on rock art, Petroglyphs: Ancient Language/ Sacred Art (Clear Light Publishers, 1997) and is currently writing a memoir entitled ON THE MOVE: a Memoir from the Womens’ Art Movement/ New York City 1970-1990.

Terry Mulert began writing and publishing poetry in 1980, and he has continued to pursue this art through readings, performances and publication in literary journals. In May of 2003, one of his poems was selected as an award poem by Plainsongs; a critical essay accompanies its publication. Recently, Mulert’s poems have appeared in The Lilliput Review, Mudfish, Mid-American Poetry Review, The Madison Review, Puerto del Sol, The Chiron Review, and others.

Phyllis Hoge taught for 20 years at the University of Hawai’i before retiring to New Mexico. Her creative achievements in her youth were 3 sons and a daughter, a PhD on Yeats, plus as “Phyllis Thompson” 7 books of poetry and a memoir. In 1966 she initiated the first PITS program in the USA—Haku Mele, “song weaver,” received the Hawai’i Award for Literature in 1995, and in 2007 the Red Shoes Award (for poetry) in Albuquerque.

Dale Harris, Stefi Weisburd, Paula Castillo : North

Dale Harris has made her home in New Mexico since 1993. She organizes the annual Sunflower Festival Poets & Writers Picnic at the historic Shaffer Hotel in Mountainair, N.M. From 2002- 2007, she edited Central Avenue, a monthly poetry journal that sponsored poetry readings in Albuquerque and Santa Fe. Her art interests include pottery and book making. She is also a nurse practitioner working in HIV care.

Stefi Weisburd is the author of The Wind-Up Gods (which won the St. Lawrence Book Award) and a poetry collection for children, Barefoot: Poems for Naked Feet (Wordsong, 2008). She is the recipient of a “Discovery”/The Nation prize, a Bread Loaf Scholarship and a Lannan Foundation Writing Residency. Her poems have appeared in Poetry, the American Poetry Review, The Paris Review and other journals.

Paula Castillo Born in 1961 in a small town along the Río Grande in New Mexico, Castillo’s work recombines personal and familiar elements in unusual ways. The man-made microcosms combined with the expansive natural environment are the catalyst for her critical exploration of the systems and spaces we inhabit; places our own lives depend on. Castillo says “I believe strongly that this interior connection to nature is essential to our humanity.” Castillo’s work is concerned with bridging the new field of Complexity Science with culture and art in order to understand and visualize our perceptions and connections with our place on earth. Castillo currently lives and works in Córdova, New Mexico, a tiny village in the mountains north of Santa Fe.
Steve Peters, Mera Wolf, Ephia, J.A. Lee : East

Steve Peters makes music and sound for various contexts and occasions. The work is often site-specific, made with recorded sounds of the environment and found/natural objects, or through exploration of acoustic phenomena, as well as normal instruments and spoken text. He also works as a freelance producer, writer, and curator, and since 1989 has been the Director of Nonsequitur, a non-profit that presents the Wayward Music Series of experimental music in Seattle.

Mera Wolf is a peripatetic teacher currently traveling between the provinces of research and writing. Wolf earned her Ph.D. in Educational Thought and Sociocultural Studies from the University of New Mexico. In addition to her research, she is currently working on a serial novel, a chapbook, and a screenplay. When asked by a student to describe the nature of her profession, she responded, “I’m really a cosmologist.” “That’s just wonderful,” replied the young woman, “Do you also do nails?”

Ephia studied dance with Min Tanaka, Kazuo Ohno, Anzu Furukawa, and Akira Kasai in Japan. Following her interest in ritual dance, she travelled to study under renowned teachers in Ghana, Java and Bali. She holds a BFA in dance from Columbia University, New York City. She danced in the company of the late Anzu Furukawa in Berlin, appearing in Furukawa’s final production, GOYA: La Quinta del Sordo. In 1998, she co-founded Djalma Primordial Science, a performative and pedagogical collaboration with electro-acoustic musician Jeff Gburek.

J. A. Lee has written about the arts for several newspapers and magazines and is the author of a chapbook, Memories of Lost Books. As a writer with a particular interest in art, land and language he has curated two exhibitions for THE LAND/an art site and given workshops on site-based language and writing.

JB Bryan, Abigail Doan, Suzanne Sbarge : West

A virgo and a boomer, J.B. Bryan is poet, painter, potter, graphic designer, publisher of La Alameda Press, former bookseller at Living Batch Bookstore, and a cranky advocate of alternative culture. He was educated in one way or another in Iowa, British Columbia, New Mexico, and California. As a book designer, he has a gained a reputation for distinctive style and classic typography. An impresario-of-sorts, please check out Outpost Performance Space, Duende Poetry Series, and many events hosted by New Mexico Literary Arts, including their upcoming Flea Market. His most recent book is the internationally-acclaimed collection Big Thank You. As a saxophonist, he performs with the Thunderbird Poetry Orkestra in Placitas. As a 35-year semi-native of Albuquerque, he and family have a funky but lovely existence in the North Valley.

Abigail Doan is an internationally exhibited fiber and environmental installation artist based in NYC, Sofia, Bulgaria and Italy. Her eco-textile work is featured on Greenmuseum.org, Art Cloth Text, Hiphonest, Landviews, and in the new book, Green Guide for Artists. She has exhibited with the United Nations Environment Programme and was a 2006 artist in resident at THE LAND/an art site in Mountainair, New Mexico. During 2009 her recycled textile forms will be on view in Fiskars, Finland, and in the Hunterdon Museum of Arts upcoming exhibit, ‘Knitted, Knotted, Netted’.

Suzanne Sbarge is a visual artist, curator and sometimes writer. Her mixed media collage paintings have been exhibited nationally in numerous exhibitions, are in the collections of many local, national and international collectors and is represented at galleries across the United States. She received her B.A. degree in Art History and Studio Arts from Barnard College in New York City and her M.A. degree in Art Education from the University of New Mexico. In addition to her visual art work and writing, she is also a gallery director, curator, graphic designer and arts consultant. She is currently Executive Director of 516 ARTS in Albuquerque. Her poems have been published in Earth to Honey (Riverside Ranch Press, 1995).

Jeff Gburek : By light, by dark

Jeff Gburek is a guitarist /electronic music composer/sound artist currently living in Berlin. He employs extended & prepared guitar techniques, signal processing, open source applications and phonography to create richly textural music, wherein extreme pianissimo, organic object manipulation and silence contrast energetic swells of excited electronics. For 8 years he has worked with dance/theater artist Ephia in Djalma Primordial Science, evolving a praxis of body and sound through performance and pedagogy.

Star Midden

This project for The Land/An Art Site in Mountainair, NM has been a long time in the making. It began with the idea of winter stars fallen from the sky to earth. The Land has lots of pack rat middens, which are fascinating, and can be studied by archeologists to understand climate change. etc.
Two summers go, Richard I went to Star Axis, Charles Ross’s massive installation in the desert–a pyramid constructed to view the sky and the progression of the North Star. I was thinking of the opposite, something private. Tom Cates, who along with E, Nuevo curates The Land said “an inner north star.”
I began talking to sculptor Leah Stravinsky about collaborating. After much discussion, our working idea is glass bowls or containers of some kind, with words on them.
Last weekend she installed seven bowls of slumped glass in a tree midden on The Land. On Friday, we had our opening in the Albuquerque gallery.

Here is the text:

winter stars, pebbles in the arroyo
what do you gather in, hold

islands in the seas, the body
as an image of the cosmos

what do you gather in, hold
alaya–a storehouse of senses and seeds

as an image of the cosmos
a place marked and swiftly abandoned

alaya–a storehouse of senses and seeds
like a Anasazi stone granary

a place marked and swiftly abandoned
Pleiades are a wound in the constellation

an Anasazi stone granary
Sirius, Betelgeuse, Aldebaran

Pleiades are a wound in the constellation
of the starry horned Bull

Sirius, Betelgeuse, Aldebaran
color is vibration made visible

the starry horned Bull
is just a kiln of suns

color is vibration made visible
fused across empty space

is just a kiln of suns
crucible, calligraphic

fused across empty space
distance is distance from the self

crucible, calligraphic
what does it mean to be lost

distance is distance from the self
the map drawn in the dirt erased by wind

what does it mean to be lost
even the blind know the horizon

the map drawn in the dirt erased by wind
a shadow falls behind, as does the past

even the blind know the horizon
a cast of dried mud and raindrops

a shadow falls behind, as does the past
anthills, packrat middens

a cast of dried mud and raindrops
your words written in radium

anthills, packrat middens
architecture is narrative

your words written in radium
your words written in dust

architecture is narrative
the opening exhibition is Polaris

your words written in dust
a meaningful north star

the opening exhibition is Polaris
my souvenir of the Milky Way

an inner north star
or destination

my souvenir of the Milky Way
islands in the seas, the body

or destination–
winter stars, pebbles in the arroyo

***

The most amazing part of the installation is the poem translated into light and gesture. It was interpreted in sign language-the signer wore gloves with lights on the tips:

On a personal level, this was a transcendent experience to see my words lead into a vision of glass and light. Thank you Leah Stravinsky! Thanks too to intrepid photographer Matt Morrow who captured these not so easy to get images.

Invitation to Star Midden Gallery Show

Miriam Sagan and Leah Stravinsky: Star Midden
April 2: THE LAND/an art site
April 8-30: THE LAND/gallery
Opening reception at the gallery Friday, April 8, 5:30 – 8 pm.
THE LAND/an art site, Inc.
419 Granite Ave. NW Albuquerque NM 87102
(505) 242-1501

THE LAND/gallery open Thursdays 11 am – 5 pm and Saturdays by appointment. THE LAND/an art site, Mountainair, open to the public during scheduled exhibits and events and by appointment.

A midden of seven slumped glass star bowls, grouped around a tree, as if they had fallen to earth, and been collected. The seven bowls have partial poetic text embedded in the glass and some glass pack/woven/nest text items in and around them. Solar lights in the bowls will allow the shapes to shine at night. The midden honors the context of the poetry and alludes to the natural instinct to gather and place and name (even objects in the night sky). The stop action of the glass flow on these iconic shapes denotes time captured in a specific vortex.

The poetry was written by Miriam Sagan at the site during a residency. The bowls and extended midden were made of recycled glass by Leah Stravinsky at her studio in Santa Fe, NM.

The installation at the Mountainair site will be open to the public Saturday, April 2. Please contact THE LAND for hours and directions.

The gallery exhibit is an extension of the project conceived and installed at the site. The poetry, including a video of the poem in sign language with LED lights, extended midden, and a video of the site installation will be on display through April 30 during regular hours and by appointment.

Thinking about The Land/An Art Site

The Familiar Made Strange 
 
  The Land/An Art Site is forty acres of land, pinon and juniper, in Mountainair, New Mexico. It looks much like that which surrounds it for thousands of acres. In its general aspects, it is like parts of New Mexico I’ve spent decades living in. However, when I started working with it it became a unique and numinous environment. It is a kind of artistic incubator. And for me it became magically apart from the ordinary. 
  I wrote to The Land with a loose proposal–I wanted to write a poetic map of the place. The response was unequivocal–I was welcome to a residency, but it was I as an artist who was being accepted, not my specific proposal. I was told The Land itself had a way of transforming vision. 
  “What are you doing?” my husband Rich wanted to know. I was worrying, lying on the living room couch and staring into space. “I’m installing a poem I haven’t written on a site I’ve never seen.” I said. I was so worried I went to a Sam Peckinpaw movie that was showing at SITE Santa Fe before lunch. I ran into educator Juliette Myers there. I told her I was worried the land was blank. “Nothing is blank, darling,” she counseled me. 
  Rich and I went down in the heat of an August day and met Tom and Edite. A chain gate opened, a rutted road led to the site. A few things were permanent–Steve Peters’ little benches carved with text that recorded sounds over the twenty four hours of a day. Most installations were low-impact or no-impact. A beautifully shaped arroyo curved away. A train whistled. I was hooked. On our way home we stopped in Albuquerque to go shoe shopping. I couldn’t function in the strip mall. I was totally overwhelmed. All those signs and letters seemed like messages–marks on the landscape. I went into a little diner and ordered french toast and bacon, and coffee. I was trying to ground myself. But my point of view had changed. 
  I went to Mountainair that autumn and stayed in the Shaffer Hotel. The Shaffer became part of my experience. A historic hotel, its ceiling was painted wildly by a former owner. A devil’s head smirked from a mosaic wall. It was purported to be haunted. I wrote in a small dark room, on a little desk. For two nights, I was the only guest, making forays out to The Land, which looked increasingly luminous. In fact, I soon became awed by it. At first I found I couldn’t even drive the whole way in. I’d leave the Toyota inappropriately on the rutted road and walk in, as if on a pilgrimage. The first time this happened it was very early morning and everything–fence posts, grass–was covered in shimmering spider webs and dew. By noon it was all gone, like a whimsy or hallucination. To calm myself I’d simply sit down on the earth, the land itself. 
  I saw The Land under snow that winter with my friend. She took some photographs that helped focus the images in my mind. I began to write my poem. I used a quote from the patron saint of the project, New Jersey artists Robert Smithson, who said “earth’s surface and the figments of the mind have a way of disintegrating.” It was both an explanation and a handy excuse for my confusion as I moved into the unknown. The Land seemed just as mysterious with my friend as it had when I was alone. We heard pinging and musical sounds without a source, like the melodies that haunt the island in “The Tempest.” The air itself seemed charged to alter our perceptions. 
  Rich and I went back in the spring to watch the sun go down and the stars come out on a moonless night. My sense of topography of the place had begun to include the sky above. It was like sitting in a grand opera house and watching a succession of “stars” come out. Despite the darkness and my sense of mystery, The Land felt if not exactly welcoming at least very open to any poem I would create on it. Perhaps I experienced an archaic quality there–a place neither benign nor threatening, but something ancient that predated human wishes. 
  When the poetic map was written, something changed. The challenge had always been to get the words into the landscape in some temporary manner. I began to see those words fluttering in the breeze, disintegrating like a line of Tibetan prayer flags. But how? I’ve always had a love of laundry lines–and laundry itself. My backyard housed an old line, and a heap of decrepit wooden pins. How about a laundry line on The Land? 
  My friend Dan Stubbs, a woodworker, built me a ranch style laundry line. I needed to weather some pins. I bought some and put them out in a little basket to deteriorate. “I brought your clothespins in,” Rich said, in a big rainstorm. Back out they went. The text, though, presented a problem. It obviously could not be the whole poem. I started fooling around, taking one line from each section, and adding one more to represent the Shaffer Hotel. 
  But when I recited the selection at the opening of The Land’s gallery in Albuquerque it fell flat. “Hang on,” I told the audience. “I think this is in the wrong order.” So I read it backwards, half-terrified to be working spontaneously in public, and luckily it sounded right: 
 
nothing is secret 
 
haunted corridors, a ghost in every mirror, 
 
braille of the book of salt 
 
the spirit boat, the chain linked fence 
 
stars come out in nightsky, cryptobiotic 
 
did this create 
 
tiny scenes of the narrative, 
 
this is where I began building a scale model of solitude 
 
  This then became the text to install. I had it printed–vinyl letters on a tablecloth. Allegra Print cautioned me that eventually the letters would fall off, but that felt just right. I added a gauze dress and the slip of my wedding dress to balance the look of the laundry line. And left the basket of clothespins beneath it. 
  I hear that pack rats stole them. 
 

Winter Stars Midden–The Land

WINTER STARS MIDDEN

I’ve been working on a project for The Land/An Art Site in Mountainair, NM. It began with the idea of winter stars fallen from the sky to earth. The Land has lots of pack rat middens, which are fascinating, and can be studied by archeologists to understand climate change. etc.
Last summer Richard I went to Star Axis, Charles Ross’s massive installation in the desert–a pyramid constructed to view the sky and the progression of the North Star. I was thinking of the opposite, something private. Tom Cates, who along with E, Nuevo curates The Land said “an inner north star.”
I began talking to sculptor Leah Stravinsky about collaborating. After much discussion, our working idea is glass bowls or containers of some kind, with words on them.
Here is the text in progress. the first version is a split pantoum–obviously too long to install but it is the basis or wellspring. Then I trimmed it down to just each essential line, without repetition. We’re trimming it down even further, to words for the glass.
If you scroll down in the blog you’ll see Leah Stravinsky’s photographs of The Land–although we haven’t yet determined the actual site. I’ll post more as this emerges.

winter stars, pebbles in the arroyo
what do you gather in, hold

islands in the seas, the body
as an image of the cosmos

what do you gather in, hold
alaya–a storehouse of senses and seeds

as an image of the cosmos
a place marked and swiftly abandoned

alaya–a storehouse of senses and seeds
like a Anasazi stone granary

a place marked and swiftly abandoned
Pleiades are a wound in the constellation

an Anasazi stone granary
Sirius, Betelgeuse, Aldeboron

Pleiades are a wound in the constellation
of the starry horned Bull

Sirius, Betelgeuse, Aldeboron
color is vibration made visible

the starry horned Bull
is just a kiln of suns

color is vibration made visible
fused across empty space

is just a kiln of suns
crucible, calligraphic

fused across empty space
distance is distance from the self

crucible, calligraphic
what does it mean to be lost

distance is distance from the self
the map drawn in the dirt erased by wind

what does it mean to be lost
even the blind know the horizon

the map drawn in the dirt erased by wind
a shadow falls behind, as does the past

even the blind know the horizon
a cast of dried mud and raindrops

a shadow falls behind, as does the past
anthills, packrat middens

a cast of dried mud and raindrops
your words written in radium

anthills, packrat middens
architecture is narrative

your words written in radium
your words written in dust

architecture is narrative
the opening exhibition is Polaris

your words written in dust
a meaningful north star

the opening exhibition is Polaris
my souvenir of the Milky Way

an inner north star
or destination

my souvenir of the Milky Way
islands in the seas, the body

or destination–
winter stars, pebbles in the arroyo

***

winter stars, pebbles in the arroyo
what do you gather in, hold

islands in the seas, the body
as an image of the cosmos

alaya–a storehouse of senses and seeds
a place marked and swiftly abandoned

like a Anasazi stone granary
Pleiades are a wound in the constellation

Sirius, Betelgeuse, Aldeboron
the starry horned Bull

color is vibration made visible
is just a kiln of suns

fused across empty space
crucible, calligraphic

distance is distance from the self
what does it mean to be lost

the map drawn in the dirt erased by wind
even the blind know the horizon

a shadow falls behind, as does the past
a cast of dried mud and raindrops

anthills, packrat middens
your words written in radium

architecture is narrative
your words written in dust

the opening exhibition is Polaris
a meaningful north star

my souvenir of the Milky Way
or destination