Cabin Letter, cloud fragment, Colorado, July

Dear – (names of loves, Colorado cloud formations)…

to follow scent and slope toward where words are to be tasted. Summer. Diction. Pronunciations of a walk, a caress, of noticing and discovery


Aspen, pine, columbine.

Grasses, marsh, and pebbles.

Sand and water.

Bodies in the world. Of.

Earthy heavens.


To lose reason and perception in being.

A sense of that. Sky. Fluid. Water flowing and founding, above and below.

I can still imagine desire,

after all.


Clouds never ceased converging and changing,

even when they weren’t.

Berry referred to this as “the space between the leaves”

“I,” for instance, mind or body both.

Clouding forms.


Smoke and drink still, even in absence of.


A carriage of conversation accompanying – in the form of silence, – inscriptions, all that is nonhuman, waiting for or presenting any of its forms.

Written language or music recordings, for instance: grasses and bushes, streamsongs and trees along with birds and stealthy deer.

All bodies of the world, in and with it, too.



Making presence like a meal. A party. A walk, a hike, a bath, asleep.

If I named you to bring you near – what would you be? Who?

(shuffling the cards of names)

(faces all worn off)

A tiny pine responds, fake empire.

Eyes are everywhere, like leaves, like air molecules.

The spaces between.


I go out.


Nights are maps, are dreams.


Cloud formations. Always.

“Russian blue.” Vodka. Confusion-in-fusion. Withness.

-to cease the spirit

Nothing beyond.

The mosquito, intravenous. To “draw” blood.

Spirits. (extraction versus infusion)

Extrusion. No medicine.

Aspen quiver, laboring breath. Alone. All becoming one.

What? Who?

(so much any named “you” as an “I”)

Caught in the trees, slipped in the stream. Thirsty.

Asleep again. Watching clouds.

Dear –

– you. fire. rain. bodies with and in and of the world. Here, not-here.

Results this letter. Address. Silently.

Solitude as a freedom to be alone, to become (how slowly?) all-one.

Alone there’s nothing there. Cloud fragments.

Sky rains its portions. With, in, of. Neither for nor against.

Perhaps awake now.

Air in, air out.


Is all I’ve learned to suffer.


Cloud formations

Storms. There is a darkness, a swelling uprising (not grand!) in me translating the transformation of Alone/All-one, a kind of grit and pollution I add.


Bones. Rock. Stones




the fluids

they conjoin.

Dear –

it began.

(it was left for the voices) – with/in/of.

Dear Marguerite, Helene, Clarice…

Hello, I am (not) alone. With/in/of the world. Neither for nor against.

Yet imagination and desire

cloud formations, I was expressing in

such great heights


"A word is a bridge thrown between myself and an other - a territory shared by both" - M. Bakhtin

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