Sunday, July 5, 2009

The Fence

They rain to literal, fit with facts. Hawthorne on the boat, Pond Lily, and the whispering half life of the Concord River resort to bright effects. A wind installed in the tucked duff beneath a serious tree settles a rabbit to its own personal marsh. Thought roomed for minutes with constant referral. Thoreau and his boat, Musketaquid, same boat as Hawthorne’s, and a trip to part of the world. Each part connects to a vocabulary. Hawthorne looked out the window of the Old Manse while the river eased its way. The landscape remained a process, with its own vocabulary. Treated as a vagary, each word resorts to distinction as a claim. Sunset bottled, then sunrise uncorked, or some metaphor between this history and your own. Picture that, said Thoreau, as Margaret Fuller, more like a countess now, drowned in homecoming.

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