STOPPED EYES WATCHING, OPEN
















WHAT THEY SAY ABOUT SNOW GHOSTS

Maybe I was given too many
tall peaks, the wild poet says.
The pastor says, Someday,
you'll have to come down
from that mountain. Another poet
asks me what a mountain is.
I ski in a basin called a begging bowl
located on a mountain
I've never seen the top of.
I stand, like another poet says,
one foot shorter than the other.
This is a way of walking,
the oldest poets say,
an odd way walked by
common ones laying
animal skins over white bones
where one never arrives
but crosses snow fields
singing ejaculates
of movements among the unseen.


Jim Bodeen
11 December 2010

















LA LUNA CAFÉ

Raúl's baby blue guayabera in a shopping bag
placed into my hand by his daughter

On a hanger by my bed gathering light
from the receding solstice sun

Jim Bodeen
10 December 2010



















STOPPED EYES WATCHING AND OPEN 

Goat on Highway 12
Hooves leap rock transporting cliff
Start winter on skis

Jim Bodeen
8 December 2010

















THRESHOLD IN SNOW

Skis transport
Skiing is transportation
Skis take one into the poem

Monks on skis
Carthusians in France
Praying for me
Praying for us all
On skis
Easy tracks in the begging bowl
Sliding into Paradise Basin
Falling, digging ourselves into deep 


Jim Bodeen
9 December 2010



1 comment:

  1. the goat in snow is the thought of a poem on the page, without tracking without marking, we take it in with a breath, the untouched white on white. i like this next to the rain glazed asphalt with street light reflection, a surface beckons. a service i reckon. kjm

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