Palm to stone one, dolomite
Hello my imminently august friends. Here we are at the scorched summit of summer, where despite the aridity and height there are still subtle traces of a time beneath the blue-green waters. A time that will without question recur.
Over the next few letters we’ll work with a simple image, one that I have encountered many times in many guises, and one you may have encountered as well. It is an image in the sense of an object beheld at the confluence of perception and spirit, held in the imagination. A scene contemplated in an attempt to unify its fragmentary parts into some whole.
The image is that of a cupped hand holding just a little water. But images are notable in their slipperiness; the water turns out to be the convex surface of a boulder, so that palm presses to stone. No, it’s the palm that is stone, a shallow mineral dish brimming with water. As I say, slippery. How about we just follow where it leads?
I leave you for now with that to ponder amid this weighty heat. Maybe let it soak over a nice quiet swim. Or perhaps you’re reading this in front of your fireplace on the cool, breezy southern hemisphere — in which case, what insights might a bracing winter plunge bestow? At any rate, we’ll approach the image from a slightly different tack next month.
A few readers have picked up copies of the latest volume of Reliquiae, where three poems I wrote over the winter appear. The whole collection is really great, and I’m honored to be part. If you enjoy these strange walks we take together here in Polylith, you will most definitely dig Reliquiae. Until next month, happy imagining.