THE NIGHT SKY

This photo comes from my neighbor, Robert Baxter, who shot it on his walk along the Suwannee this past weekend.

Lot 22
16 September 2008

Outside, a full moon, even fuller than last night; it looks that way. The moss draperies, the faraway hoot of the owl, the crochet of crickets, the stars,planets, both yellow and white: this is my original experience, the year I lived in the trailer here and cracked the window by my small, thin mattress each night so I could fall asleep hearing all that.

Just reprinted the poetry I wrote that year--1997--collected in the chapbook, ALONE, ON THE RIVER THIS YEAR. Here's a sample:

THE FIRST SWIM OF SUMMER

A ten-foot drop from this clay ledge.
Too narrow for alligators.
Too late, anyway, for their
sunning themselves.
The wiry weeds slides from my grasp, and I fall backward
into a sky of marbled gold, a chirring
of insects; the moon, a white broach
on the evening sky. I stand--
squishing my toes in the muck--
then toss myself backward again,
a plump needle pointing north-south,
brief compass in this world
of water moccasins, snakes
thicker than vines, insistent buzz
of mosquitoes, and lightning storms.

This sweet violence we call the world.


Michael Branch’s piece in ORION has inspired me to go back to what I loved in the first place, so tonight I went down and stretched out on the plastic lawn chair and counted stars until a mosquito zoomed in. I hope we have a hard freeze this winter. Otherwise, I should tie ribbons to the mosquitoes so I can see them coming.