First one must find a concept
large enough to contain the entire
city: Saffron, perhaps, or Gate.
The horse pulls its head into
its neck, making its body an
S below the gibbous moon.
Cover the river in grey silk. Let
the building reinvent itself
in soft satin curves. Owls
resent this impersonation
of their essence, feathers
cloaking coldness and no
blood. Let mice run beneath
the strutted floors, the gilded
ceilings arched like stars over
nothing. Nothing in this sky
is identified, so let it be
that.
--
26 Feb 02005 -- changed "beneath" in line 6 to "below"
Beautiful. Surreal and mysterious.
Posted by: jenni russell | 26 February 2005 at 08:12 AM
Lovely. I love the idea of resentful owls.
Has anyone discussed the possible significance that saffron is the color Tibetan Buddhist monks wear? Why saffron gates and not yellow or sunflower or daffodil or tumeric?
Amy
Posted by: Amy | 26 February 2005 at 08:35 AM
I love the owls, too...
What's the difference between saffron & turmeric? I mean the colors? I know the difference between the spices and their $ !
Posted by: Karen | 26 February 2005 at 10:55 AM
Loved it. A witty & quirky focus on the great wrap artist.
Posted by: Dick | 01 March 2005 at 04:08 PM