Poem
Marianne Boruch
ON RAIN WASHED PAPER DRIED, INK
ON RAIN WASHED PAPER DRIED, INK
ON RAIN WASHED PAPER DRIED, INK
On rain washed paper dried, inkstill blurs. But all words
are stains. The paper’s rippled
lunar, mountain and crater,
and seas on the moon, misnomer
of plains that looked like
water once, no-end-to-it shadows,
fractal to fractal. The telescope’s eye
fooled the eye. From there, does
earth rise and set? Or a thrush,
would it sing its trouble backward?—
the most private tremor first, then
the public part, famously
melodic but fierce, really it’s
fierce: stay the fuck away. I know
that lie, Sea of Tranquility.
© 2009, Marianne Boruch
Publisher: Poetry, Chicago
Publisher: Poetry, Chicago
Poems
Poems of Marianne Boruch
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ON RAIN WASHED PAPER DRIED, INK
On rain washed paper dried, inkstill blurs. But all words
are stains. The paper’s rippled
lunar, mountain and crater,
and seas on the moon, misnomer
of plains that looked like
water once, no-end-to-it shadows,
fractal to fractal. The telescope’s eye
fooled the eye. From there, does
earth rise and set? Or a thrush,
would it sing its trouble backward?—
the most private tremor first, then
the public part, famously
melodic but fierce, really it’s
fierce: stay the fuck away. I know
that lie, Sea of Tranquility.
ON RAIN WASHED PAPER DRIED, INK
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