Poetry, notes, and drawings by William Michaelian
Love the imagery!'Night has rearranged the world', is such an intense line.
Nazia, thank you. What strikes me about that line now is that it sounds so final, when we know the moment it captures is only temporary. It makes the poem a kind of snapshot, in a way.
I'm struck by image of the trees as 'old men... when the streetlights shine of them', juxtaposed with this particular profile shot of you. And thoughts of your uncle's mustache low to the ground, gone in the blink of an eye, so evocative of the passage of time.
Elisabeth, the amazing thing is, last night, a few hours after writing this poem, I dreamed of the very same uncle I had in mind. It was just a fragment, really: I hugged him — something I never did when he was alive — thinking, “how do you hug a lion?” And he smiled. We were standing next to the large mural he had painted on one wall of the aluminum equipment shed behind our house on the farm back in the 1960s. And there the dream ended.
I love this poem, William. Indeed, there is something magical when I walk late at night under maple and fruitless mulberry trees in my neighborhood. They are dusted with the light of street lamps and the moon. I await the arrival of Peter Pan. The wind rustles the leaves and I can taste fall in the air, even when it is still 80 degrees in the middle of the night.Great, minimalist work here!
Thanks, Paul. I love the way night softens the edges and lets the imagination take over. What an ancient, potent relationship we have with the dark.
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