Not to be Reproduced, 1928,
How many windows in your name?
Within me, apples tumble from green rooms,
by René Magritte
I remember the way the eyes of the sky
stared at me as if I was always in trouble,
staring at the back of my own head
as if in a two-way mirror going nowhere,
always watching myself departing
like a train without tracks.
I come from a world of windows
opening endlessly onto each other,
like a Chinese puzzle.
My mind was shaving its chin
My mind was shaving its chin
in a cold water walk up flat,
and doves flew from my eyes.
March 30, 1995
Higham Family School, Santa Rosa
RIFFS FORM SEVERAL MAGRITTE PAINTINTGS
My eyes became the silhouette of clouds.
I have my reasons for wanting to chase
the origin of light from my dreams.
How infinite is the sound of clocks
reverberating in empty rooms.
Once I dreamed the buildings of the city
became huge mantle clocks,
and the mountain grew new peaks
in the form of nesting eagles.
As if the reckless sleeper had lost its night horse.
Where does it start? The life of a dream,
the end in the source. Dusk and day light.
Silence reigns with the perfection of an empire,
its face forever to the sun.
March 30, 1995
Higham Family School, Santa Rosa
How many windows in your name?
Within me, apples tumble from green rooms,
roses wrestle with the unspoken thoughts.
The doings of bird and sky.
I have made my rocky bed
I have made my rocky bed
amid the stones of the past.
This world of bone and skull
This world of bone and skull
and the perfection of green rain
penetrating the endless night.
The train finds its way home alone
The train finds its way home alone
even though the birds sleep.
If the worn-out words find us mouthless,
will they become the thoughts of birds
opening towards the unknown father?
March 30, 1995
Higham Family School, Santa Rosa
slightly revised 11/16/2015
