Transformation C, Josef Albers, 1950

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i know   i know   i know

 

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a new riff for R. H. at the new moon 

 

 

Richard,

i started up

afraid i’d lost a garnet

sphere, & Robert Lax.

i found both and the new

moon’s next.* i said,

 

i thought, i said:

new space so soft open.

cleared a field

with a child’s spoon,

knees boring the

loam, stretched

my shoulders

in the door frame.

 

it’s swelling out

of crushed pitch,

clad in moldavite

chitin. i press out

my hand for

your 4th rib. 

 

*  what has withered or arriving, formed by pressure, at the surface & arms uncrossed.

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