Only the sky is true
far blue and far white
and far stars at night
hear our stories, our stories, our stories
Only the river is ever true
taking us where
and where we do not
want to…
In the year of fire and fear
when even the air has stopped breathing
I have come to see the woods again
to kneel between the waters, joined
where the main creek and her sister join
here there is dark spruce, tangled willow, darting minnow,
and refuge
again to ask
…
We have come to the Whitney
our pasts inside us, silent
like the dogwood flower
A tableau of sculptures
march the veranda,
some small and assertive,
some large and lethargic
all migrants, ex-captives
the clank of their chains
still shuffles the High Line
one foot fear, one foot courage
one step fear…
We bought the old place
for it’s reach to the woods
and it’s true…
one step from the door
and on to the trail that winds through the waiting aspen
is to enter the place
where the boundary awaits
where the rusted sign says
“please latch the gate” …
and hear the land speak
of…
all the rails
with their whispers
of longed-for arrivals
all the nails
holding our homes straight upright
all the girder and truss
with their hard love for safety
all our fence, all our fears
standing sentry at night.
…
