Clouds, leaves, waves. 1992

1992

The Villa of the Sun

The Villa is in the setting sun.

The sublime comes down, to this--

a blank in our eye, 

refusing.

a cycle of frescoes

the remembered pieces, in broken 
thoughts...

the sublime comes down--
to this

bread 
and wine, a few scraps scattered

The seasons of an idea, the weather 

changes, a different mix,

off into the distance

Haunting memories of

Pompeii, in the sun

(a certain quality, a special red

pigment fading)

reminds one of

our loss


 of the sacred.

flaking paint, the grey grid 

restored, then disintegrating-- 

the fragmented broken pieces.

The hardened crystal, signaling

some Supreme Fiction!

drifting, beyond 

to be created anew, Land for Sale!

maybe, go out ‘west’--

Crispin sings the credence 
the moment 

somehow grasped!

the very sun’s extinguishing...

Sapphires flash in the central sky,

An affair of places.

Out west, start over, having failed.

Needing the sun out west,

I think I’ll go out west.

Getting out of the car to make a picture of this.

The degeneration or heightening

of a thing, to a metaphor.

A distance from immediate hope

of being-- in the moment

The crystal seeing-- 

the being in the sun, experiencing

the things as they are--

heightened-- through thought

then, the realization of loss

and wanting to build out of memory

a revisioning, ordering, abstracting --

From what is always 
    changing, dying--

that abstracting distance 

from any original.

Shade toward a dreaming, the floating idea

to be rebuilt, (the Villa idea)

refurbished in some mythic distance

Love, is a yearning 

to be one, 

with a separation we feel

we are fallen from,

a search for connection,

forestalling death, loss

between ourselves and nature

a hopeful reason, for Art--

In a whirl 

a rope, swirl
   pots, the flowers burnt in the sun 

swallowed up into the sky

a grid appearing, the wall flaking

crumbles, starts to fall--
   fail

A fiction composed upon the wall.

The wall breaks 
  loose,

The space opening--

LOOK-- alone, shh!

there!-- 

a ROSEate Spoonbill bird Ahh...!

My fellow, a god to me!

Absurd!

A mirror. I look into

realizing 

our endangered... minds.

How dark we have, become

It’s late, we’re naked and 

We have no home to love.

in a paradise, we’ve lost

there, in the distance--

A desire, 


At this late hour.