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From: Renee the duckwoman
Date: 07 May 2004
Time: 16:26:48 -0500
Remote Name: 172.170.105.91
The shadows are loud in the black grass. I am the Cerberus for a still/young man who sleeps. Snow White was a man. He was lost beneath leaves bright as cardinals and now he sleeps under blown cherries which look like soap or snow. I am young enough, but I cannot leave, so I would very much like to converse with a fellow artist. I am lost in the city and happier and more alive on the island. The ill when they sleep are not like children and dolphins: but turn slowly underwater. The owl is in the attic killing, quiet as a pillowfight. The hummingbirds, the lilies, erupt, I find myself searching those farmhouse windows as I dig in my garden, they are shields -- mullions of fire. The owls come and I am still here all by myself, awake, caregiver/prisoner. I run the fields with my dogs and they pause, drink dew; the lights go on on timers, the heron resettles on his batbox, and I feel my chains rolling behind me on polished hardwood and the sound of one petal falling on the piano is as loud as the man down on the street, coughing grasshoppers into his hands.