We have forgotten the language needed for such communication. We find ourselves in an autistic situation. Emotionally we cannot get out of our confinement, nor can we let the outer world flow into our own beings. We cannot hear the voices or speak in response. All things are always changing, but nothing dies.
Nothing is permanent in all the world.
Metamorphoses , bk. The world speaks everything to us. The quotations above are the premises of the writing I am doing now, a third poetry ms. The poems are approaches to the liminal edge, the place where our normal definitions become blurred and images form, wandering through change, and where, if we learn to listen, all things are fluent and the world does speak. Formally the work is also exploratory, assuming as many shapes as it can, trying to embody the voices heard in listening to the world.