Stilling to North Arthur Sze Just as a blue tip of a compass needle stills to north, you stare at a pencil with sharpened point, a small soapstone bear with a tiny chunk of turquoise tied to its back, the random pattern of straw flecked in an adobe wall; you peruse the silver poplar branches, the spaces between branches, and as a cursor blinks, situate at the edge of loss—the axolotl was last sighted in Xochimilco over twenty years ago; a jaguar meanders through tawny brush in the Gila Wilderness— and, as the cursor blinks, you guess it’s a bit of line that arcs—a parsec made visible—and as you sit, the imperfections that mark you attune you to a small emptied flask tossed to the roadside and the x, never brewed, that throbs in your veins.
Posted on: Wed, 04 Jun 2014 12:35:02 +0000
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