With no reference at all to Dylan Thomas, I played with the Tupelo Press poetry contest title: "A process of weather in the heart." Of course, it did not keep its place as a title. This is basically a sketch, but it interests me. Took Sunday off. Looking for ways to make this process feel sustainable, and perhaps a day of rest is one.
#7. What moved through
i. the coaxing
A process of weather in the heart--
some tendril unwinds, probes, curves back in.
ii. augury
I plant the seedling whose first buds never
opened. Perhaps, damaged, it will not tempt birds.
iii. wishful thinking
If only meteorology
were the study of falling stars. I
imagine the maps, streaked white with lights, with
the Leonids’ swarming insistence.
iv. knowledge of absence
All we want is the pelting storm that
will not come. A desert in Chile
has been waiting for a thousand years.
Empty so long, the beds forget their meaning.
v. air masses, their moisture almost human
Fog reaches into the thin canopies,
strokes the spring leaves. They shift like thoughts, lovers.
4/9
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