absence of time [chalk]
Mar. 21st, 2005 12:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
spitfire_samhere is my entry for the AUXILLIARY CAPILLARY BLOG SQUADRON (thanks for inviting me to participate):
Entry #1: CHALK
how can you feel so divine with a piece in your hand? i trace out a box then another, the clouds move over my head. boxes with numbers, boxes without, the dust hits my nose and colors my hands. i look up and the clouds are giraffes and bears, moles and mice. i look at you and see you finishing up the other end, the boxes now number 10 or maybe 12, 25, 100. we could dance the dance of hopping joy for longer than anticipation of it wound in our hearts.
i carefully number the boxes, you start drawing fish and making underlines. we look for stones to throw, tumbling the grass.
clouds move towards infinity and we start the game.
one hop two, miss a box, hit the end and turn around, pick up then we start again.
after we have slowed down, the pieces fall out of our hands, red, blue, brown. i make names on the canvas, i add flowers and hearts. yours and mine, there, sitting beneath the box.
we have let the pieces fall out of our hands, onto the ground. we lay in the grass looking up. look- a bird! that one looks like a train. we nod together, we know what we see. our heads touch as we shift to see the possibilities.
later i trace you on that ground, our mark indelible. until the rain comes to wash it all away.
Entry #1: CHALK
how can you feel so divine with a piece in your hand? i trace out a box then another, the clouds move over my head. boxes with numbers, boxes without, the dust hits my nose and colors my hands. i look up and the clouds are giraffes and bears, moles and mice. i look at you and see you finishing up the other end, the boxes now number 10 or maybe 12, 25, 100. we could dance the dance of hopping joy for longer than anticipation of it wound in our hearts.
i carefully number the boxes, you start drawing fish and making underlines. we look for stones to throw, tumbling the grass.
clouds move towards infinity and we start the game.
one hop two, miss a box, hit the end and turn around, pick up then we start again.
after we have slowed down, the pieces fall out of our hands, red, blue, brown. i make names on the canvas, i add flowers and hearts. yours and mine, there, sitting beneath the box.
we have let the pieces fall out of our hands, onto the ground. we lay in the grass looking up. look- a bird! that one looks like a train. we nod together, we know what we see. our heads touch as we shift to see the possibilities.
later i trace you on that ground, our mark indelible. until the rain comes to wash it all away.
