I like to find
what's not found
at once, but lies
within something of another nature,
in repose, distinct.
Gull feathers of glass, hidden
in white pulp: the bones of squid
which I pull out and lay
blade by blade on the draining board—
tapered as if for swiftness, to pierce
the heart, but fragile, substance
belying design. Or a fruit, mamey,
cased in rough brown peel, the flesh
rose-amber, and the seed:
the seed a stone of wood, carved and
polished, walnut-colored, formed
like a brazilnut, but large,
large enough to fill
the hungry palm of a hand.
I like the juicy stem of grass that grows
within the coarser leaf folded round,
and the butteryellow glow
in the narrow flute from which the morning-glory
opens blue and cool on a hot morning.
(via the poetry foundation)
***
if you like grass and posies and "urban jungles," maybe you'll like some of the shots from the high line.
(a sure sign that i've lived in ny too long--i got snap happy for GRASS.)
what i envisioned for each shot was a little more remarkable than what i caught. sort of frustrating. i almost didn't post them here. but the poem reminded me of what i loved about being there on saturday, and what i loved on sight.
the appeal of some things are obvious: a tall stalk with lavender buds, standing strong against concrete and broken glass, or the wild way a sunflower sweeps across a small plot--lazy, but like it owned the place. i liked that the planting is an attempt to force a bit of symmetry, but that much of it is left to grow in its own raggedly beautiful way. i like the thicker, more exotic and fragrant brush of the south end. all the dark greens and deep purples. but maybe more than anything i like the feeling of remembering, rediscovering beauty, every time i'm there. it's hard to not want to try to capture that, and take it home with me.
so while maybe no individual shot is strong enough to stand on its own, perhaps --perhaps-- as a collection, they give you a good view.
and maybe you'll want to head over there, too.
