By Seth Jani
Posted on
The wind is in the dry leaves all day
It must be someone’s disappearing life.
I heard we can be seen up there,
Minutes after death,
The flickering light of what we will become
Tied to the ghosts of past and passing,
So much like those blue mirages
We find knotted to the sea.
By Seth Jani
Posted on
After the annulment of light
In the stubborn kiln of winter
There is a beginning that hurts.
You hear it in the troubled cry
Spun from treetops,
In the muffled bending of trees
Cracking off the frost.
When you wander through the streets
Stunned by the bright emergence,
The wakened sunshine,
You start to remember
The endless colors of the world:
The Adriatic with its whitened dazzle,
Michelangelo’s angel-bitten blue,
All the faded shades of longing
In the remnants of the Roman Forum.…
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By Seth Jani
Posted on
Sometimes when I close my eyes
The landscape dissolves
And I am two-thirds the wind
And one-third a boy in the city.
You will find me among
The high-rises hiding leaves
In dim-lit corners,
Pulling the fire-alarms
And filling the halls
With painted flames.
You’d be scared
If they weren’t the color
Of bad ideas,
The ill-planned blues
That are easily distinguishable
From real ceruleans.
But still, plastic or not,
I am incredibly happy.
Beneath these trees
I never accomplish anything,
And I haven’t moved
In thirty years.