~ after “Pastoral,” Leonora Carrington, 1950
Where is that space left
in the world where we can spread
a blanket of linen on the ground
and confide in the beasts
that come to rest their heads
upon ours? In the canopy,
a glimpse of ourselves
still festooned with wings,
gliding through smoke-
blackened leaves. It is
the moment after, or
the moment in between.
The neck of the fowl
doesn’t twitch anymore;
the horned animals look on
without comment. No one moves
toward the bridge that connects
to whatever took place before.
[LAG-other-response url=”https://www.vianegativa.us/2018/06/conversationalists/” title=”Via Negativa: Conversationalists”]