i’ve been placing mirrors in fields lately
as the sun sets. i take a picture of the mirror,
picturing the sky, which has been framing the stars
for eons and then some.
i’ve been placing frames near rivers lately
trying to mimic the sky’s ability to be
consistent. the trees have been doing this
for eons and then some
they are just missing the top of their frames
i’ve been placing canvases on mountains
near wildflowers and honeybees
hoping that if i return in eon and then some
i will find something framed or a tree growing
through what was a canvas, what is a frame
if the wood can last that long
i’ve been placing paper on branches this winter
hoping that spring will paint flowers
or to record the sterile activity of birds
in the winter months. I found a note on
one that said I love you.
on another someone drew a leaf.
another tree missed a paper a day. i
wonder what letters, origami, or art is being made.
i’ve been placing jars of air in environments
where it has not been. I want
to see if it’s still the same air in a year.
i’ve been placing jars of pens in public places
there’s mischief and wonder when ink
is so accessible—motifs, graffiti, filthy pictures
love letters and an illegible signature by someone
who’s not prepared for death.
i’ve been placing jars of water in public places
the water changes after a week.
sometimes green. sometimes even gravel
cigarette butts and once i found flowers.
i’ve been placing jars of earth in public places.
not much changes.
(i think what this poem needs is some sublime to match the beauty. i should go back and read the criticisms on that. talk about, [maybe] the horror of not be able to touch nature, that once you touch nature it is no longer nature, thus is the nature of mankind—man’s midas touch)