"... atmosphere can slip ... Through a Buddha's chest ..."

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Mr. Sutherland

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David Sutherland reads "Mirror, Cignal, Minerva" in Real Audio

Mirror, Cignal, Minerva

In rhythm's deep breaths, the tonal
Musing of an atmosphere can slip

Through a Buddha's chest, shuttle
Past the lower lip of a Pyrenees

Or mirror the thin air mounts
Of an Aurignac. And past Juno's

Pomade of sugary slopes and
Gingerbread cottages lay refuge

To Artemis's hunt, the unstained
Remoteness of dream where wild

Yellow manes blanket the ground,
And a brother's tale flows by degrees;

Colder as twin lakes freeze and your
Countenance on ice signals

A return, time passes, and we pass
But learn to walk now,

Do not run,
There are far too many angels.





The Bivouac of Time

Seen on the inverted bowl of
Celestial events the meaningless

Derides itself, is measured up
Against itself, flounders in the

Drift of ocean becoming shore,
Shore becoming sea,

As even the elegant redwood
Of centuries past must turn

Its rings to stone, stone to dust.
So with us, these circles of time

Like a sphinx decides its ground,
Its footing, as though the first stone to place

Will be no different than its last.
Millennia will pass their tumulus

Into the verdure of time,
Spend in a thimble's movement

Worlds and peaks and summits,
Recede quickly into the silage

Of entropy's passion for
Here and gone, then rest

Beside us in comparative aegis
With no less terrible an envy.