Hello there readers, this begins cycle three of Polylith.
The spring equinox is passing over this peninsula. Birdsong rises cryptic and desirous at each end of the day, the full moon mirrors noon to midnight and light floods back to push at the margins. An ocean-and-a-half away a Golden-class container ship is wedged diagonally across a narrow waterway, pressed alternately north and south by the changing tide. The moon with each pass nestles the ship deeper in the sand, Artemis unstrings her bow beneath a nearby palm and an ibis settles on a channel marker in the morning fog. Take heart!
I bring you another poem this month, or part of one at least. It is a piece of a longer poem in the works, but to celebrate this generous second-annual interruption of global commerce I’ve decided to share it here. A showering of arrows carries with it not only bronze and wood and feather, but a rushing mass of air as well.
Yes. As it happens, I have an announcement of my own to add to these promising signs: the zine I’ve been talking about — the paper companion to these backlit letters — is now open for subscriptions! I’m calling the zine Drift Body (as a synonym to polylith), and the first volume will arrive at the beginning of May. There are three subscription tiers, which all get you the same thing, but support my work in different ways. I’m particularly excited to see who chooses the pen pal tier. I invite you to have a look.
And with that I wish you a happy full moon. Until next month, may you dream of a span of steel flexing in the changing tide, nestled at either end in sand.