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—D.R. Wagner
THE VANISHED MAGICIANS
—D.R. Wagner, Elk Grove
I am still waiting. I gaze from the window
Past the mirrored room,
over the terraced roofs,
Looking to the columns of
thick dust that rise
In long streamers far away
near the river bed.
The water is almost gone
now. Most of the people
Have left on their own
odyssey taking their cattle
With them. They are looking for an everlasting
name,
An infinite domain. We used to think them
Magicians but today they
have become fools.
All knowledge of them
scraped into a few
Lines of poetry populated
with unicorns,
Twisted pieces of iron and
an almost imperceptible
Clearing of shadows that
is neither
Exaggerated or completely
powerless, but which
Exhibits all the marks
left by time
On the night sky. They will not be back.
And so we remain here with
our over-inventive
Dreams penned up in
abandoned corrals
Awaiting a new star, an
insistence that details
Have changed, that there
will be enough to eat.
We wish for good fortune
to accommodate us
Here on the extremes of
music,
Prayer and a crumbling
spoken language.
I reach out as far as
possible.
I am able to touch the
soft fabric of the moon.
__________________
‘THE LONELINESS THAT TIME
CONTINUES LEAVING’
...J.L.
Borges
—D.R. Wagner
I had been given my own
island.
Mostly dust with a couple
of good
Pastures that rose upward
to sea
Cliffs looking at the
western sky.
As good a place for anyone
to sit
Of an evening and listen
to the day
Unload its promises into
the night air.
None of them really true
at all.
There was never enough to
call out
What country this might
be.
The vessels that came here
had flags I could
Not recognize. They seldom stopped
For more than water and to
buy a few
Sheep and some cheese.
I began entertaining as a
dream is
Entertaining. I knew parables
And had the ability to
speak
Any language as so as I
heard it spoken.
I awoke one night deep
inside a dream
I recognized as belonging
to a captain
Who had asked me years ago
if I
Knew anything about how
long men
Had lived in this
place. I recall
Being completely unable to
answer him,
I recall saying something
about the horses
Who had lived here long
before I came.
I questioned my
wakefulness, but
Everything contained one
of his secrets,
A sleep full of his dreams
and me,
Knowing this. I found myself climbing into a small
Skiff with curious blue
sails
And rowing out to a
candle-lit
Galleon. The night was perfectly still.
When I awoke in the
morning I was
At the edge of the meadow,
a light
Misty rain was beginning
to fall.
The sheep were walking
slowly toward me.
Somehow I felt they were
happy to
Find me there watching
them.
Sunflowers, Weary of Time
—D.R. Wagner
BESIDE THE SEA
—D.R. Wagner
These flowers burn my
hands
As they are delivered to
me.
I must have gone out at
some
Point to gather something
like them.
But they became too many
bouquets,
Too many different ideas
of what
Time allowed me to
find. I am
Sure it was for time’s
amusement,
Just as it finds so many
literatures
To poke at as one might a
jellyfish,
With a stick, between
tides.
This then, is between
tides.
I will be patient with it
all
And carefully map out the
Labyrinths, make
deliberate choices,
Find a mysterious object,
half-buried
In the sand, carefully
lift it, turn
It over, only to discover
a perfect mirror.
_______________
A CONVENIENCE OF CHAOS
—D.R. Wagner
The honeycomb keeps the
tally
In an even, golden blood,
once
Held in the mouth of every
Beautiful worker bee that
plies
The structure and its
liquid gifts.
*
I found wolves in my heart.
Their white and shining
teeth
Pushing past the bone to
explain
To this heart that it was
To be discovered, made
part of the wolf.
I was forced against the
most
Beautiful pine tree I have
Ever seen and felt the
white,
White teeth open my thigh
and then
The symphony of the pack
was upon me.
Ribs turned to bleached
instruments
From which music has fled
Except for the coldness of
a great
Howling across ice fields
and
Thick-crusted snow.
_________________
WALKING WITH THE ELECT TO
THE FINISH
—D.R. Wagner
It’s the part about the
end
That always leaves me so
confused.
How something can start
out in one
Place and eventually find
itself so far
Removed from where it was—distance
Becomes unforgivingly
complex,
One word will not follow
another.
The chorus seems
continuous, with
Voices rising into the
text, becoming
Melody and moving away
even as
More words pounded the
flesh of language
Directly into the mouth
with meaning.
The Summer was beginning
to grow very bright.
We were able to talk to
everyone who came.
Some of the children
remembered us from
The last time we were
here.
We sent the water for
them.
They were the mystery for
us.
As we went deeper into the
forest
We could see their bodies
begin
To glow. We began to wonder
If we were on the earth
any longer.
The ghosts were already
moving in the children
And there were
entertainments in the heart.
The clearing was strung
with cheap
Incandescent, clear
carnival lights.
It didn’t feel like a
place God
Would choose to be.
Something we understood to
be death
Had already fixed roots
here.
We weren’t going to go a
step further.
It’s over, Charlie. Can’t you tell it’s
Over? Nobody lies that still for that long.
No one has such large
holes in their body.
__________________
ON THE BLUFF
—D.R. Wagner
Death was camped out on
the edge
Of a bluff under some
cottonwood trees.
His horse was without
saddle
And was munching grass just
at
The edge of his campfire.
What are you doing here,
death?
I asked, somehow surprised
but
Not at all afraid.
Taking in the night,
listening to
Bach on my music player,
remembering
My work, or part of
it.
And you, he said, are
dreaming. I have
Nothing for you yet. You could
Stay here awhile and look
at the
Stars with me for awhile.
Thank you, but no, dear
death.
I am traveling this night
to
Escape the heat of the
desert.
Dream on, said death. See
you
Soon enough.
________________
Today's LittleNip:
You fail only if you stop writing.
—Ray Bradbury
_______________
—Medusa
Lots going on in our area and the Bay this weekend, in spite of the heat; get all the details by scrolling down to the skinny blue bulletin board at the right.
Image
—D.R. Wagner
