Oct 19, 2007

Separate. (Book Arts)

This is a book I created for my friend Loie as an illustration of the poem below. I was enamored with the idea of a book that had many compartments, pockets and folding surfaces. The above picture is the last, inside page because I have not yet developed lay-out skills in this program!


There's a man in my window, It's only my reflection without my face.

I've just come from the arboretum
where wind sculpted light across the sky
on the bellies of clouds.

I just lay in the arboretum
where trees drew inky, angular lines across the sky,
some flaming in the iridescent glory
of blood becoming light.

I just made love to the sky,
the wind coddling my cheek,
each pore receiving rain in the delighted giggles
and shudders of virgin nerves.
Here my chin, there my brow,
now my lip, then my nose.

I turn to the days melt along the horizon
where orange and crimson undulate
in the grey sea of twilight.
I stand to see more and wander home
until the sky of paint pulls me from the trail.

The pain of seeing only dark,
formlessness within collapses,
a pile of joints and bones and skin
at the crest of a needle-strewn hill.

I'll leave all my dreams here,
take my last walk off this hill,
if I could just tuck the colors in my pocket
and hold the light inside.

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