Stu Hatton

sands

Sweat behind the knees; craving the shade that never finds us. When the only way out of a desert is to sit with it awhile. Thought we saw the bird flying but in fact it was grounded, lifeless. Drinking perspiration from a shirt. Deep in the desert, a bridge over sand … for what purpose? Scarves failing to filter dust from our lungs. Rubbing eyes with sand-fingers. We travel at night where possible.

after reverdy

for Paul

these are false portals

            through which nothing leaves

& what is the endless wall?

            what is the heavy house that sleeps?

a seedsman’s garden

            overcrowding of seeds, rose dust

if hope has no object, what are seedlings?

            the garden birds’ wings too short for the task

flows

Knowing there would be some way to continue. So many forms of breathing (breath-forms), the many stations of the breath. Breath spiral.

Bonding in the spiraling. Breathing changes what happens. Confidence in uniqueness. Trying to find out what the words want. The breathwork.

And then you know you’re in the detail; glints of the not-yet settle. Let the breath itself do the breathing. A house of breath is not a building. Countless forms of yes; yes-forms.

Time may enter or be entered … as flows. Tending toward multiplicity, multiple vectors, multiple persons. Two people will breathe this differently. A close reading of breath … a close dissolving.

Unbounded breath; no beginning, no endpoint of. No bounded system. Mind is part of the air. A home in yes, of flows … flows flow through flows.