ATOM ARIOLA


Atom Ariola occupies space in Denver, Colorado (USA), where he is
completing a Master's in Creative Writing.






Four Days In the Mountains

bare iron and only the absence of form
is fullness, there
where winter or its arrival gives
and lessens us into, no--
lessens us towards the direction
that is beyond us,
as if there were something we could not
see or understand, at last,
the skin of sun, perhaps,
of water


*

another sound of morning
each begins all color
within
and the surface
of the window, without image
of the water speaking,
the skin where, silent,
your body arrives.


*

but when you saw yourself dying
there was a galaxy in motion
of rusted milk, distance
that clicked the light
out of position into
the landscape
toward breathing,
what limns this hair against your skin
to river dust, or
the sound
of a slowly revolving
eye


*

beyond each vein
of mud is
trace
the studded shore in libel reaching
out against the horizon's
cloistered opening.
name and so much
is divided back into itself.
touch and the voice burns itself out.


*

what pressed
to your hands, asked
there a different gravity,
the winter almonds waiting
where the eye could not find its return.
what the light would ask
of a different life
you've somehow spoken into seeing.
notice how the valve of sky
opens out, draws deeply back into you, again,
as the world, in its beginning,
unravels.


*

and what therefore
has become of you,
passing out of
undone or imagine what's inside
the sun's dark ink, where,
the sum of our remainder,
the past you knew
or thought you knew
gives itself up
in its diminishment,
refusing to move.


*

before what stills us
collects itself
to the birth of sound
is the accident you came to,
the recognition of your voice in the trees,
of yourself falling through space,
what humid distance,
and the pressure of a single moment,
as if it, also, had lived.


*

though it was not your face,
the face you saw in the river turned back
on your refusal, a further giving
to the altar of the body
a different lie, as though in breathing
we might possess through our arrival,
anything that speaks, anything
that shatters.



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