calling

[Dave]

No point calling, the sky is cold, colder still
than winter daylight, words won’t carry.
It all reminds me of rice paper,
translucent, sometimes foot prints
are the fat stains, or the pressed shapes
of those who come and go, it matters
less which as I grow older.
Everything huddles;
the barbed bracken, thin strips
of grass wrapped about themselves,
low trees on their knees along ridges
between the muddied fields and birds
up to their ankles or clinging to branches.
Breath twists and turns like a forlorn hope
dissipating before I’ve turned my head
to pursue a voice, or what I took for a voice
but might have been a shifting of the axis
on which it all turns. I seek to move,
shift body weight, pull up my rooted feet,
gather some kind of momentum,
but this sky, its gray, the damp folds
of afternoon, pull down deeper,
so I shrug shoulders and
as one who stays always does
I recite a farewell letter
I was forced to learn by heart.

[indar]

Hi Dave,
Overall a beautiful write. Thanksgiving here: I have time before the pie comes out of the oven to comment on the first half:

No point calling, the sky is cold, colder still
than winter daylight, words won’t carry. Love these lines--as if the cold bleakness is causal--words won't carry
It all reminds me of rice paper,--this line seems wordy maybe it's the "it all"--would combining the lines to "translucent as rice paper work?
translucent, sometimes foot prints
are the fat stains, or the pressed shapes
of those who come and go, it matters
less which as I grow older. this line is telly AND wordy "less which" is a stickler to my ear
Everything huddles;
the barbed bracken, thin strips
of grass wrapped about themselves, Love these 3 lines
low trees on their knees along ridges trees kneel along ridges?
between the muddied fields and birds

One of your atmospheric pieces and sonics are wonderful This time of year in particular the regretful tenor of the piece resonates with me. Love it. I'll return.

[Dave]

Thanks Indar everything you say makes perfectly good sense. Bon app

[Matty11]

I enjoyed this too Dave. Nicely paced, consistent voice, and the concluding lines in particular connect. Liked the sonics of prints/stains; the huddling of nature imagery; that breath pursuing a voice.

On the nit crit side perhaps revisit: the sentence with turns/turned/turns construction/repetition; never keen on breaking a line on and.

Best

matty

No point calling, the sky is cold, colder still
than winter daylight, words won’t carry.
It all reminds me of rice paper,
translucent, sometimes foot prints
are the fat stains, or the pressed shapes
of those who come and go, it matters
less which as I grow older.
Everything huddles;
the barbed bracken, thin strips
of grass wrapped about themselves,
low trees on their knees along ridges
between the muddied fields and birds
up to their ankles or clinging to branches.
Breath twists and turns like a forlorn hope
dissipating before I’ve turned my head
to pursue a voice, or what I took for a voice
but might have been a shifting of the axis
on which it all turns. I seek to move,
shift body weight, pull up my rooted feet,
gather some kind of momentum,
but this sky, its gray, the damp folds
of afternoon, pull down deeper,
so I shrug shoulders and
as one who stays always does
I recite a farewell letter
I was forced to learn by heart.

[Dave]

Thanks Matty. Was aware of the turns. One repetition too many. The and was deliberate but maybe does not work indeed.