Electric blue maiden flies double on the surface.
Wind (when.) Mike’s voice ripples through snake grass, the
reflection of snake grass, maiden flies// maiden flies
through my voice—
Wreckage of stray logs along the bank.
Threads of blurred tint when the wind increases
violet (disturbance), violet (fire).
That the eye
Invisible operation of light—iris, suddenly visible.
Easy to. Concrete as rock’s
articulation of flowers. The retina, the eye flipping the matter of the lake—the
ecstasy of location. Being somewhere and what
breaks the suspension of surface before—
Put my hand into the water, watch
my face slide apart in slats.
Tilting the bottle to just the right angle
makes the lip whistle.
“Echoes” previously appeared in BlazeVox.
I find I am continually called to Henry David Thoreau’s famous assertion that “in Wildness is the preservation of the World” and to his emphasis that wildness forwards “the” world, not ours (“Walking”). Thoreau’s tremendous humility is born of his radical commitment to a wider realization of nature. (And, here, to a sense of right conduct that acknowledges the ways he finds he is both a part of nature and apart from it.) We would do well to abide because recognizing the fact that wildness destabilizes our agency initiates a relationship with the world that is shaped by faithful attention and gratitude.
Nathan Hauke’s chapbook In the Living Room was recently released by Lame House Press (2010); his poetry has appeared in BlazeVox; Colorado Review; Denver Quarterly; Electronic Poetry Review; Eleven Eleven; EOAGH; Forklift, Ohio; Free Verse; Greatcoat; Gutcult; Interim; New American Writing; Parthenon West; Twenty Six; Word For/ Word; and XANTIPPE among others. He has a PhD in Literature and Creative Writing from The University of Utah (2010) and an MA from Central Michigan University (2004). He is an editor for Slash Pine Press.