Transformation

Something so still as to be called a still life transforms shell into bone, dried pomegranate into a raspberry-center,  a slab of marble into forest and sea, and a glass perfumer into all the light necessary to siren.  Or perhaps this quartet coalesced as a bone/shell star.  Now consider, a poem as a still life accepting the quiet and/or awaiting transformation.   And what is cooking if it isn't transformational?

Mandala

I often wonder what my red eyeglasses see? Perhaps, they fashion what is in front of them into a mandala.

Or what does a lemon see of the knife which slices them.

Moving in a circular motion, what about a very short poem. Perhaps, a tad astringent:

nothing
as sharp
as lemon

A mandala to glass.  

Center

Amazing what spins from center.  Light luscious & vegetal.  And which words will be spoken over lunch on a bed of greens?  Which, [words] glorious in their silence?

Flames

Quite patriotic in its coloring.  But rising?  Or drowning?  It's up to poets and cooks:
turn up the heat; set the vision.  Or is this (simply) a sunrise's dream?

Trees & roses

Perhaps a tree really wants roses to be its fruits.
Perhaps roses truly want to be hats for trees.
And what does perhaps want?  By the way, is that "wish" or "lack?"
And, yes, the water is a mirage.  Most poems are like that, too.
Now consider the elusive artichoke. Yup, roses grow on trees;
if a poem were a vegetable, it would be an artichoke.

Reading is an image-bending activity

Homage to C.D. Wright.  Reading:  The Poet, the Lion, Talking Pictures, El Farolito, a Wedding in St. Roch, the Big Box Store, the Warp in the Mirror, Spring, Midnights, Fire & All.  In addition to being an image-bending activity, reading a book is never singular.  These notes in the first photo of who else to read because I'm reading C.D. Wright.

A book and a garden have this in common:  neither is ever singular.

Sometimes the image is the poem

Sometimes the poem is the meal.   And always the dream says, the moon is the star of it all.