The Photo Grapher

The Photo Grapher

for Helen Levitt

The lens

Draws back

The eye

Awaits

The move

The step

The form

She rolls

The hoop

In light

Apart

A plane

Glides high

The game

Winds down

The lens

Draws in

The crouch

The gaze

The time

The click

The wind

A Scene

Like a Conrad hero

He pulls himself

Up onto the raft

And lets the water

Sluice down off

Of his body

And he’s not sure

If he is he

Or someone else,

As the sun descends

Like a dipping oar

Far off

In the western sky

When a Robin

When a robin

Stands up on

The brim

Of a circular

Stone birdbath

Beneath the first

Blue sky of spring,

The air shot through

With March moisture,

And she sees you

Seeing her

And remains proud

Poised & posed,

It is because she knows

That she is blazing

The image

Of a poem

In the 10 AM light

An image

That is then challenged

By the long tailed

Sparrow

Perched

On a post

At the entrance

To this café

the antelope leap

the antelope spring,

the loping leap

of the ant

as he seeks out

a ride on the back

of the antelope.

oops, he slides down,

like a feather zigzagging

in the savanna breeze.

that’s the last leap

the ant will try
when it comes

to hitching rides

on leaping antelopes

Dream Mali

the book on harvey’s shelf

said dream mali,

i thought.

dream mali

because that’s

what i’ve done

so often

is dream of mali –

the circular guitar lines

that rise as coiled

streams of desert air

and the voices sounding

forth like

blue light rushing

i’ve dreamt of mali

and timbuktu

and fortresses of books

and other knowledge

kept only in the mind

and shared in stories

told beneath a great

desert moon or sun

dream mali

how could i not

after hearing oumou sangare

sing or ali farka toure

coax serpentine blues

from a steel string guitar?

it all rings out to me

as a dream 

even when

i’ve seen mali

in reality

like at the mca

when roswell rudd

trombone-lead

a band of percussion

and lightning marimba

through trance song

or when i hear mali drone

and ricochet
in appalachian

banjo song

i looked again at

harvey's bookshelf:
dream mail,

that was the title

dream… mail

dream mail/dream mali

perhaps each of them

brings us to the same

destination of blessing