—from "Air for Mercury"
IV.
Oracles, iron, the misuse of fire
under the young earth, and this
business of being infinitely swept up
in possibility so when you put
you hand down on something white
you noticed that detail, punctuated by
luckless forms. But night had been
deployed: see-through parts of the moon:
lace, anima mundi; and weren't there
two forevers, words and space, between
which more experience might ride, unencumbered?
You were supposed to tell them
what they'd missed; they'd read your
logics, your letters. So little space
between your letters, the words couldn't
easily air themselves. Remember going back
and forth between the rooms? Blue,
green; the wings had been adjusted.
You were meant to take black
netting off a face or two. Take
something. Passion brought you
here; passion will save you.
—Brenda Hillman