New Senses Old Work

Each line is a delicate tissue. "The house is each day more fragile. We suffer / And laugh and swim. We go"

Lucretius meets Cage.

The names release birds and animals
into wild chance. Fruit trees
don't stop changing either — each thing
ripens its own space
and the determined light flows around our bodies
so we become cormorants and gulls
with new senses
Cage salutes Lucretius
It transpires that murmurs and clickings
Are nature to each body
Sound never resolves itself
And what we hear erupts into other senses
Or perhaps it sways like a footbridge
Even our hands dream of stuff
They dream of pigments and fruit trees and puzzles
They dream of the honey that escapes from our work
Two passages from the same sequence. But different. One is populated by punctuation; the other begins its lines with capital letters. Each set in a sense ripens its own space. Each is a fragile house.

Lisa Robertson. Lisa Robertson's Magenta Soul Whip

And so for day 1027