Salt Plumes
By Ray DiPalma
A pleat of light has been here twice
 back to the day and the day back
 a bearing refused at its source
 the stalled mercury fused in its glare
 with no conjecture to mark the limit
 the motion is modified
 convolutions of ancient scripts
 half drawn half animal birth
 the arch of the back
 one surface
 one depth
 one changing shape
 an apology for
 crossing the pulse of offspring
 *
 Uncommon offerings commonly intuited
 a wooden bowl with a gilded edge
 five dark stone knives
 a small clasped vessel for oil with a floating wick
 flanked by two wax birds
 space is a factor whose
 mapping disturbs
 our conversation
 a prospect of careful planes
 tended by argument and birdsong
 then abandoned to palindrome
 the flex of barrier
 and immaculate reticence
 relent in equal shares unseparated
 by edge or rhythm’s orientation
 amid the subtle claims of threnody
 no other sense of praise
 than wonder
 *
 Predation
 mythic proxy inflected
 the unanimous struggle of particulars
 primed in situ
 white for decay
 red for the eye
 blue beneath the snow
 a cold wind noticed too late
 now equitably disposed
 something brought to completion
 though the worm was in it
 beyond the forms of Baal
 *
 Emptied markers burning in the ruts
 deliberative motives
 more in balance than real
 fixtures of an arguing anxiety
 more generous less fragile
 neglected by speculation
 plainest increase finds the barb
 in the morose distortions of small forms
 and the thin yellow words of the infatuation
 it brings its own set of questions
 like something brought to be abandoned
 by the side of the road
 *
 Description is what has been taken away
 the infinite lost in the simulacrum of displacement
 a number not in arrangement but farther on
 not in the distance but insistence
 the hours gained in anonymity
 the years lost word by word
 contradicted by the myopia of its internal logic
 uphill favors sediment
 imago the gift imparted
 the cross-eyed shuffle of expedience
 too late the song too late the door flies open
 too late the spoken mercies too late the fabric bone
 *
 Wandering ligatures accelerate expansion
 to primary acquisition
 nomadic recourse
 absorbed in gerundive detail
 reclaims the discretionary pursuit
 essentials
 the exactions of light
 extolling the riot of genetic ambivalence
 no ulterior duplicates
 no delivered verges
 in shallow equilibrium
 only the instruments make rapid movements
 adapting to internalized mechanisms
 adjusted by accretion
 *
 Proliferation
 and impossible replicas
 regret or loss
 become a gesture for that limit
 schemes of evidence
 offered in contradiction
 *
 As intimate as doubt
 all that is personal in chance
 distinguishes one to one from
 the one from the other
 reinterpreted in the dark
 and shared only with number
 the objects in the room
 the articles on the desk
 are an assent to a consequent perfection
 that is abandoned in moving on
 pursuing neither a conclusion nor
 a new point of entry
 what had become unacceptable
 is now overburdened only partially remembered
 timed to the word denied with nothing
 else to take its place or make its order
 sustained by mechanism and the simulation
 of some capable version or familiar resource
 a preemptive predecessor quietly virtual provides
 something other than an option
                                                     July-August 2001
Copyright Credit: Ray DiPalma, "Salt Plumes" from Obedient Laughter. Copyright © 2014 by Ray DiPalma.  Reprinted by permission of Ray DiPalma Estate.


