Wednesday, March 4, 2015

On the Journey of a Moment

Scene


Xena | via Tumblr
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Maxine Chernoff

The cinema is a specific language.
           — Christian Metz
 
 
What the body might guess,
what the hand requests,
what language assumes
becomes amulet,
which is to say
I am carrying your face
in a locket in a box
to a virtual location
guarded by kestrels,
suggesting the scene’s
geography of love and dirt,
trees ripe with darkness
and bones’ white luster.
In the moonlit blue house,
where snow won’t fall
unless called upon,
grace enters as requested,
lands next to you, grasped,
as if love were a reflex
 
simple as weather.


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