……
…
……Like all of human kind the rocks along
……the narrow beach are all somewhat alike
……yet each entirely different. We
……pick them up, Honey and I, searching for
……the ones we want, the ones that touch us. They
……are like us perhaps or is it just at
……first sight or recognizing an old friend
……bending our bodies down examining
……delight or finally not delighted
……letting them drop but oh the ones we want
……spots or lines throughout coming to be loved.
……Do the clouds touch the mountain, the mountain
……the clouds? Is the stream going down the rocks
……or the rocks up? Do rocks pick friends, friends rocks?
…
…
The stones in the vimeo come from all over the world picked up at some point in some year on the beach or mountain. The sonnet occurs as my friend Pat Maples and I pick up stones on the rocky beach on the Isle of Skye in late June, 2009. The photos of stones in different hands were taken at Bill Kushner’s 80th birthday party last May: hands of New York poets and writers. Never knew how big Lewis Warsh’s hands were till I took a picture of them. Anselm Berrigan’s little daughter absolutely knew the stone she wanted and held it up very well.
…