Thomas Lowe Taylor -- FEEL'D TRIP

for Susan Smith Nash

***************

"sky out"

At a host of welcome distances
I call you across time-line
says alert, to other signs these hours
recall your time to me, what's
closer hours detain nothing in
this light between us, moving through
passing lines are doubled-out, what's
new becomes some other way
around the black line moving
across time


What spells relief in time's signs
the lower spore alert belonging there
again is holder-split, or turning spheres
these greater times delimit outer shoals
referred forward at light's edge in
the moving hours rescind or fall away
in passion moving toward what is
there in topics of control laid out
and then abandoned in escape
no central duties quicker gaps ahead

But what you'd hear is still
still between us said unsaid distances
fill profound airwaves are settling in
between boredom and the heart's light
beating at yr hands are coming forward
here again no outer sails are bent
around to see again, re-view of the
hours coming down around my own
inner latitudes reform and meet
you at the ear's own line-out.

What you called out was true
enough for me; at stalling made
against my own light becomes
us in some arm against the
line we called forward from the
inner depths recalled like something
new was held for future casting



The cross at the world's junctures.
Relief at what comes toward me
breaking at my inner walls,
and might retrieve me from what
is known (too well), no release but
this saying-out, is clear to flashing
eyes, the sign across these darker
realms have passed beyond doubt's
lessons to the heart, no markings
left plain, ahead, otherwise remarked
at bird-song, at pleasure bent against
your own remissions, there again.

Still, you are left behind in yourself would clear
these airs from between the saying and its own light,
calm between times sending out the clearer hours are
called aside or not, bending you into your own being; as
you are led beyond your own transmissions, is it me?
There where the flesh derides pressure, there are the sendings
forward mark the spot internal signs correspond along
what's there again is heart or blood scanning doubt
again, or holds you swaying in the wind, some
horses among the cat tails, swinging in between
the spot and its particular colors is still there.

My own carps are shattered-out, benign pressures
indicate newer depths are scaled aside from processes
deeper than signs, but left too far apart to make sense.
You'd call me out, I hope, and further futures song
and dance along the words scattered among
their paragraphs like light lighting out hands across the way
where you are quiet against the signs of your own life
reflecting summary and palm the dual attributes
of what is still there anyway growing firmer to
taller tales than memory itself, the calming
soft along your thigh reaching in within yrself.

Would this be the silence? Hearing you write
is still a welcome sign that I am still connected
to something in the air, the "sequence of events" takes
us out to other lines laid strong in shadows
markered through one door after the other, which
other says remark or strange stains hold the
metal rhythms against what we already know
in this "as has" you'd meet me half way is
closer than I'd thought possible, the transparency
of what I am is plain enough to see through, or
call me down along this ribbon of message,
and call your singing a clearer pathway to the heart.

What's at spoke your
open hours' rim.
These at other hours call
you into me,
call you in again, where
now you had given up,
never again, nor trust, nor
attitude, as if or outer,
and in renewal finding hope
declares potential at the day
to whom belong at no one centered
and carried down into forgiveness
of the one you are, in sensation
given in again to be yrself.
You are not denying but
holding out again, to see
the lines around you glowing

Frontal S-curve, surmounted by
diagonally slanting layers of color, declined
rainbows fallen to the earth, cone-topped, hard core
castular domal structured imprint
layout; injection-molded light scan;
sliding behind itself, saying it's more
to the seeing, the patterning reveals you
to yourself, seeing the red hot flood
belying your presence at ancient dues.

For fortune's entity revealed the presence
of which supports other densities the units
the units controlling seeing, the seeing
itself unrelieved by intelligence, coming
from behind, as we do, on what has
already happened, thrusting ourselves into
our own future by reclaiming the
past as seeing, as being there in
process of what has been there
all along, just as self, just as.

5.16.92