Sarah Passino
o aracelis
o aracelis yes theres a known address of each flowerhead each seedcrown the dirt each and each when it goes to seed pulled by wind each kite seed makes its way down the full weight of its body in its toes addresses the earth I address the earth too after you I lay chest-down and know what poets know first: when all of us jump there’s a quake the bodys the only instrument we need to size to seismograph to feel the whole expressive repertoire so yes in this still pocket park morning still full of street sweeps
and still not even one burning bush and even after the unbearable today and the papers you say read slow with the body I hear parts of your words mishear words the ocean always in my ears and how are we tuned and how are we tuned by the world papers folding and unfolding in the receiver like that song you played once I am here on this side of this other river cupping my hands like this listening to the galaxy jasmine showed us one night once each leaning in listening each in to star from these storm some new life new-mothered in just like that addressing particulate wave wave and the sea and so blur and so each and so all and so dirt and so called god and so we are our own and each others oceans still in my ears a break the breach a drone some days I can’t hear a thing all the noise of today sick gut the country drones on and in the office too by the copy machine I have a theory body truths refuse figurative language but now what for the poet if I want to address the you that is you and not you that is wholly other than you by which I mean me who is me and not me and not not me too who is you and a you who is these risks the principle horrors the bare life the scraping old edge and what daily cruelties man comes shovelling still into earth what sound what lies with the coffin bell on the toe and yet and yet and yet the lines are connected the phone gets picked up even when my instruments in such disrepair and how out of tune still I try to write to you and today dragging my receiver through the streets by this cord to not lose the thread of anything on the night-purple hudson trace sings can you hear me now to his mother that rhythm each of the three of us here listening too our own kind of mother once mother now mother new mother we each lean in to hear the river the tuning this god this whole age addressed in a song that is it he calls the divine and we hear it he makes us divine in the call address known address unknown and yet now measure now fade a firsthand vibration so gesture so plot what daily is made so so much depends on the rest of the line the dandelion the dandelion a flight! anelectrical charge this is the risk and receiver