Trois couleurs: 最好的時光
“Does the world have nothing inside but sorrow?”–Andrei Platonov
“On windy or rainy days, naturally there are times when these clocks would stop…”--陳黎
Part IV: Coda
Toronto and onward
what else is there to do in time
of shadow and sorrow:
cantilevered over death
stood straight, wept
into red pillows transformed,
substituted songs
blue for magenta, life for death, the land for the sky and it stood there, as the canary lights across
illed with light and the thinning and
so,
this morning
thin the bone-light
shale shell the burning pulpy heart. You:
the color the scent the chrysalis and cover.
all that gaining going
all the oxen: memory born of deprivation
the mirage funneled beneath the sun of a life’s assignations. Can we reproduce those swaying moments or reconstruct the corridors of waves, like gestures seen in passing that batter our lives into shape and spleen? Splintered raft, cadenced lap of language, weighted scent and a castoff look. All those things tendered in exchange for the what-has-gone-missing,
the oxen of the sun.
I
n a word and picture, a small anterior hatch through which we try to see things forward to stake out a clearer path from the engulfed past of places receding, the long haul, line of clink and clatter.
and so a rhyme comes forth, the inkling of a thought, a gesture of sorts, an image with the shape and gored of a bared fruit, seeding itself into my body, gestation and resignation: a weaving at the loom, an attempt to stitch together a patch and work of watches and winches, a story born of the many stories circling in time’s head which rushes like the electric snap between pulse of space and dendrite:
the oxen of the sun, does this really explain,
anything?
spreading and becoming and what began as green became a wilding color and we flowered magenta for we had plucked death and we shuffled off the flora that once grew wild in 林口區, the red restaurants skeletoning the alleyways of 淡水區, the red warm water of 礁溪 and the red rivers and beaches and our skin reddened in the red sun of 萬里桐, all of that, our red life which has now beckoned us color, scent and chrysalis: our cover
alive
Wing it and set that free.
