Ironing -a woman’s half hour

Space/Time has glass edges

and creases made not hewn

by the wash folding,

folding and extending,

extending back the wave

of all longing

orbiting at a waterfall’s edge,

cliff cave and curtains

when she lets 
the light

come in....Attention 
will wander away

from the last frame as I wonder,

I wonder when remembering

and forgetting waltzes

ebb and flow, no chorus

singing hallelujah, just 
impatient wasps, a big 
point to make, staring 
at the end of someone else's 
queue, waltzers, no towers

to fall in cartoon slow mo,
singing 'Wasp' instead 
of Take this Waltz, this Waltz

always, when a spin cycle

does not take forever

always is another detonator

detonating and the tumbling

and tumbling by the window,

ironing, like all statues tumbling,

tumbling into a ditch or river - this is

for the top drawer, the shattered glass,

a woman’s half hour folding

and folding and folding.

She tracks an Orbit

Light years from you and me, her eye to a telescope,

she tracks an orbit and discovers a spiral galaxy.

We are going round in circles, so she begins

to determine the mass of objects, their weight

in relation to one another, while I see Mount

Clara, clear water and rocks full of gems.

Adaptive optics, and see her waterfall

a white arrow laser shower chased by

jumping lunchtime boys arching their toes

over slated ledges. Her eye to a telescope

she may imagine quiet on a lagoon's rocky bank,

a stormy energetic stem of a cliff

and warmer waters in shallow gentle edges.

She may see the shade, swim through the blind,

dip under thunder to cave, rest on the wet

shelf of sofa rock and watch the light come in.


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