the small fish were called vandace.
a man blew a horn of birchwood
toward the nightless sea.
still voice. fire that is no fire.
ahead years unknown to be lived --
bell from the tower in the all-at-once, then
one by one, hours. outside
(so fleetingly) ourselves --
in a still mirror, in a blue within
where this earthly journey dreaming
itself begins,
thought into being from the hidden to the end of the visible.'
/ excerpt from the poem 'travel papers' by carolyn forche
