Even the most remote icy moons insist on being individuals.
-- National Geographic
not arrow channel straightedge line
resigned to get where it's going no
our blood meanders scouring cliffsides there
settling sifted sandbars here
sweeping our minds clearing our palates
dry bread crusts after sips of wine
from mouths of jars long buried mute
waiting in desert caves with swallowed scrolls
angels who grant us tastes but not
when we shake from need or look for the cup
we wander beyond thirst past hunger
in earthquake country close to the ground
playing our wrists like fiddles
going without sleep or purpose that's why
artists can't draw straight lines:
straight lines belong to rulers of all kinds
and when we get this close to the fence our hands
tremble our feet turn and run
we're almost back in the woods again
back under the rain back out in the cold
-- Jody Aliesan
