Monday, December 12, 2016


Still (cropped) from "Rain Room" video,
Random International, 2013

A glimpse, then, at the edge of a puddle. Skin
white as the gibbous moon, radiant and cold;
her glance up at me, appraising. A frog stalked
by a heron would feel the same chill I did. She
knows she’s soulless, no opening for anything
imperfect as our finite warmth, or stories that
have endings. A warm thermal footprint draws
her attention: a young man walking. Marriage?
No, those tales are wrong. It’s a wish to join a
world of change, be pierced, made permeable.
She's silvering the asphalt beneath his feet.
A shift in the clouds, and an impossible sight—
perfect beauty, soaked by the rain—stops him.

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