Roseate, Points of Gold

Laynie Browne

1.

She turns, light reflecting her eyes      constructed of light

a liquid hand

(of)                      blossoms

The scent red, bower of red—May

As she drinks this (color, blossom)

replenished     notion of Spring.

Where this ring          will have completed   another

in the unimaginable distance—

Given the color (gold)

(now gold) of the fields from which the distance was

gathered.

2.

From fields of now, which gathered gold,

That which has been misplaced, or intrudes upon an

afternoon—

Magenta hue of bud—fallen—a crown of red she associates

with a name

Suspecting this will disrupt the carefully pleated intuition of

the manner in which to cross a room made of

reciprocity.

(a room at once a field)

Touched lightly, the surface ripple recants.

Such buoyancy, opposite gravity, could not have been guessed

of the fields (the distance gold gathered)

Though hardly could she call this tremor persistent, while

when sitting quietly no color nor motion intrudes

upon the inner vestibules.

There have been days painted of such—

A bird made of wood outlined in a tree of identical shade

while the background, lily-pensive.

When the portrait flew away she doubted the color, the grain

of the bird

and the stillness of the lily as wings traversed its hue.

3.

Lily traverses

where ink is penchant windows reconsider

blue silt of fractional evenings

petals strewn

In a cast of syllables she could not have recognized,

until seeing across one recognizable floor

as threads in the heart of an opal.

Light cunning conducts—so records nothing—returning

body beyond form.

Forgotten the arc of memory reaches only so far as what has not yet occurred

Which she holds like a wand of crimson, illustrating diagrams in air.

4.

Diagrams of crimson

An echoing glass shell,

A glass dream with wooden breakers

Emerald sight stuttered

A child held in streamers wide

Begins, skeleton repeated from previous bodies.

Disrobes the dream—

A candle encourages

light through various windows to enter.

A basket of light, filled with thought.

5.

A basket of thought is internal

tempting the inner dawn.

Neither this thought, nor the movement entailed by mirror’s gravity contain solidity.

Both dissolve by approach.

Sitting, the body changes, in this illusion of stillness

the mind is transparent then, as if within water—

which was her hope, to be indistinguishable.

Steps from the known

to encompass another form,

(swathed in diaphanous clouds)

there is the remnant of a former, less bright form, of less

Fallen from permanent shoulderblades.

—A mirage lovingly drowns

To approach the former is to engage a solitary sea, a wind blown which covets a sail.

She sought the opposite of setting out, to be oneself a catalyst, to remember     the irreversible.

Movement within the body which emanates from another source—

Her instrument them, a flowering chain.

6.

Her instrument then—

recites scattered wave upon stone.

Locates breath, opens lips to intone.

In reference to the body, breath betokens ink, inscribing form

syllable of permission

When speech yields milk          she breathes

neither up nor down

the image dissolves.

Body and name dissolve,

Impearled instrument

Invisible vibration

7.

A name impearled, by permission

water coverlet

Awakens to light what the body has forgotten

kindling         forehead—palm.

Removing a darker garment, she covers herself in metrical

hymns in the manner of exhaling a bird.

In the manner of a tiny brush, red bowers of henna traverse her

arms

She enters the syllable—

revolving the rays of the sun, buried embers, and counting the

night in measures of water.

8.

Measures of water

rest upon sky, sun rests upon the syllable

sung as it is resting within all elements

Blue of exceeding darkness

reveals a person seen within sun

whose eyes, and lips gold

gold of exceeding eye

The form of the person in the eye is the same as the form of a

bower of sunlight.

Worlds beneath the self within the eye.

What wish, she asks, shall I obtain for you by my song?

9.

Which song shall I wish for this body, now a continuous child?

Embers which yield

opal—waters

A wave of thought upon stone, in the manner of exhaling an

ember

invisibly hung     upon brow

At noon, brilliant, as birds fly without support beyond wings,
carrying invisible winds to where they are needed.