.“We didn’t become humans when we invented tools,” “We became human when we looked at the person sitting across the fire and began to tell stories.”
Flames burn and wrap around the darkness between us,
the light of the tree that once lived is re-igniting in its renewed since of purpose.
A single word is carried over the blue-grey smoke,
over the fragile distance,
something shifts in evolutions curve.
The heart is given a voice, a new song-
to then tell the stories that should be told.
Travel well my friend, do not worry with the signs, of which way to go. The shoulders of the mountain, the teeth of the sea; they will teach the wanderer when to bend, when to bow, when to stay and when to move along.
Over the calm,
like an arctic fox.
one could create everything.
Our train began to move,
in memory-somewhere else.
The green touched with grey,
pressing our faces on the cold glass of things past.
Children of wind and shadow,
we are older now
something is beginning in our ending.
The train began to move.
-Joshua Fleming Remixed from various lines of; A Book Of Luminous Things, Czeslaw Milosz
the moon sleeps with grief
a white turtle without shadow
behind the aisles of bamboo
there is a knife and a wound
-Joshua Fleming; words recycled from random poetry
He was walking a frozen road
in his pocket iron keys were jingling
and with his pointed shoe absent-mindedly
he kicked the cylinder
of an old can
which for a few seconds rolled its cold emptiness
wobbled for a while and stopped
under a sky studded with stars.
Translated from French by Czeslaw Milosz and Robert Hass
Bees, wind, pollen, cigarette butts, rain, gravity and gravel, a sliver of green washed over in yellow, demonstrations of world(s) colliding, transmuting suffering and sacrifice, for yield and yielding, Citrinitas.
A firm line is drawn,
the Ocean – she smiles
turns into a patient wave.
Always arriving, never departing.
Removes the arrow, teaching the scar how to swim
and about her relations with the wind.