MARK MEALING ≈ Foam

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I.

Foam

Before anyone remembers
a giant cedar snag washed ashore at Fletcher Falls
now much broken by time & Philistines
A quiet day
I sit & gaze at the freshet-swollen creek
water over rounded stones
& the foam, the foam
that every moment hurls a thousand different figures into sight
figures so fey of form
I struggle to keep them in mind
long enough to know them
a kind of madness, perhaps
to hope to grasp these images at all
yet marvel
at their antic beauty
At other times of day
I gaze into the magic box
read of rumours true as rumours may now be
ruin hardly to be believed
evil hardly to be borne
a kind of madness, perhaps
to hope to grasp that at all
yet marvel
that one must shrink as small as may be
to hold it
& then to know there is no separation
that those who crave cold water
die in deserts far away
& that that madness that destroys them
threatens also to dry the foam
& there is no separation in me
it is no boast that I am part of the dying men
& the killing men
& also this miraculous foam
So many frail & passing wonders
Foam, Fletcher Falls

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II.

Chaos

Some say such things have no meaning
like summer flies
appeared & gone so quickly
though they rise within eternal numbers
to hear music is to believe it
to see these forms
is to believe them
& they appear everywhere
the stars that spangle the sky
are also the spume of Time
Mandelbrot Set: In Seahorse Canyon

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III.

Coyote Turd Dancer

As when my eye’s caught by a coyote turd
drying on the paved road by my home
hanks of hair & chips of bone
& battered & bleached
by rain & sun
the eye sees what the form takes for this time only
a dancer’s form leaping
capering through dark & light
rain & sun
our eyes see what the form contains
my madness sane
when the dancer’s there to behold
meaning is in the dance
the dance is everywhere
Coyote Turd Dancer
8/6/08; 30/10/11

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