High view & Call back by Merrindahl Andrew

High view

Wind is a rush of grasses

reaching, gentle crowd agrees,

points, yes, that way.

Stems bend but hold as

life is vertical in the long run,

the sun’s above

and soon air stills.

The grasses left behind in quiet

resume smaller motions.

The flock now:

mass turns air about,

a set of spots emptied.

They vacate the

still breathable.

Lice, feathers, apparatus:

individuals are cleaned by

distance, grouping.

Mark after sun,

migraine aura.

Cloud shadows wipe the mountains

down to panel, slope, array,

and lift a layer off sight,

stumble on bright detail.

Shrubs and rocks

are washed in light after.

Mountain’s face a mirror.

Heavens scan back the vast.

Call back

Call this back to me, come on

here buried in shed husks

of ideas about actions

What took flight? Good ideas.

Call back a bright wind

and I’ll let go the simple tears

Call back your hard shoulder

hot through your shirt and

I’ll be in that circuit

Don’t take my dull surface

for an answer

don’t take my dull depths

Call back the face that looks

into a face without flinching

and I will turn my eyes there

Call back the length of body

and its size under trees

Call back the ocean waves

to pound the inland mud from me

Call back the sinking heart

the shaking hand

the tilting cheek

Buried alive in weightless husks

but let the sounds return and shake this

surface of a drum I skitter across

rice, husk

off the edge at last

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Executive Producers

Daniel Henson

Sue White