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vashon house

vashon winterland

...december 7, 2009...

take the tongue 
out of the twist
to taste the all
in all that is –
wipe the windows
from the mist
to dance the edges
of each breath –

until the stars
that eyes had missed 
grow into
our retinas
as we construct
and reconstruct
the entities 
that we call us –

we split infinity
to be 
a quintessential
who we are 
into what never
was before.

...december 10, 2009...

ice resculpts
the whitened pond –
grass hangs frost
into the ground –
a brittle sun
too cold for snow
winters me 
into the cold –

but hidden under
coat and hood –
beneath scarves
and mittened hands –
a silent surge
from breath to blood
transports me 
into warm.

december 12, 2009

above the ice and swim of fish –
suspended cold - a water drop
evolving out of what is not 
from silvered pond to frozen rock –

within the waking of our sleep 
where all is neither day nor night
we dropped our yester-selves to catch 
this moment when the water stopped

suspended between here and there –
the world edges shift  and spill
transforming us into the more
that we could never touch before.


...december 13, 2009...

i am antediluvian
mushrooming a frozen sun
to catch the morning in this fog
of underwater shivering –
beyond the planet of my eye
golden fish swim into ice
and pale grass clouds into snow –
with frosted buddha statued still –

collapsing outward through the day 
i fracture into images
that dance across the splintered pond
in crystalline realities –
between the snowflake and the breath
between the statue and the fence
fragmented to a hundred selves
all born out of the god i am –

in each moment of my stare 
wonderment grows multiple
as if i am a mirror ball
ballooning to encompass all –
around – within – above – below –
arctic winds refract the brain
into the opposites of same 
and everywhere i am is now –
the hoary buddha watching all.

...december 18, 2009...

long and wide and silver pale
low mists weave a frozen shore
as if some giant fantasy
was drawing me into its world –

across the grey-white frosted dream
i walk on water – staring down
into the depths of icy realms
where goldfish dart to secrecy –

i am the ancient pacing skies
with shadow boots –
till suddenly –
i crack their wintered firmament
and vanish from their ruptured sky.





©pamela swanson 2016