The landscape conforms to the snowbird’s body plan: gray above, white below. Feathery puffs wherever a bird lands on a snowy branch.


  1. Quicksilver

    “My Lord, in your fair face I see all things/
    That in this life I hardly can relate.
    So many a time to God’s abode it brings
    My soul with all its body’s harmful weight.”
    ~ Michaelangelo Buonarotti

    Water is thin, honey thick; mercury
    spilled from a glass thermometer rolls
    in beads across the wooden floor.

    It isn’t the nautilus but the sea
    that spirals into the ear, still
    hoping to be claimed by land.

    Long ago, temples were laid
    to mirror the human form– altar
    and crossing, nave and vestibule,

    impossibly soaring dome. How to catch
    at certain hours, the late gold light
    that matches with interiors,

    before flickering into softer dark?
    Landscape too conforms
    to the snowbird’s body plan–

    Gray above, white below; feathery puffs
    wherever a bird lands on a snowy branch.
    If only I knew how to tread more lightly

    on these powdered paths– our steps
    break the surface that holds and yields;
    sink deeper as we ascend the hill.

    ~ Luisa A. Igloria
    01 08 2011

  2. Dave– please remove the slash at the end of the first line of my epigraph. Thanks, Luisa

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