Lisa Lubasch

 

 

[This in Branch Will Catch]

 

this in branch will catch – far laughing – the leaf is nought – in the purposeful day – where painting grows by drizzle –

 

in the book, his name in the index spelled with missing c’s – coaxed out of late – admiration through – as the exposure is tripping under us – saturated with our attentions – pursued by sympathy – deliberately, waving itself across – twin predictions of the same coast –

 

but the bird on her shoulder was chirping at a deafening pitch – its outer aspect thinning – to disquieting shades of zero – later – there was no going over it – one long hollow, and methodically – transcribed – the description was selfish – in the mouth of the betrothed

 


[Winter Enters Fretfully]

 

winter enters fretfully – is diverted – murmuring – almost without frond – climbing up, where the finish is – as often values – acquire translucency – in drifts of sills and locks – become as interference – frost contracts – and readies for transition – leveling out all prospects – as the cycles turned – they were compared – to apprehend the difference – as I recall – and the whitening of the book – in which example – pleased itself with placing – frames of laughing in a tighter stall – though each element would be worried out – and further still – arranged in sleep – the cat embarrassed – or growing violent, even, in a certain climate – where it sleets more often –

 

but once you get hooked, you may never want to grieve – the shrieking culmination of stars – and weedy bird – always the somnambulist – a virulent track – of verdurous sun – over counter – smugly approaching in unfinished quality – trespassing – as we shall show – as it shall be detected – now inside, students are examining – chains of admonishment – to rule out the larger context – centered in an immediate past – as persistence drips out – to inundated cores – drearily, on either side – producing neither glorification nor regret – but something narrower in conception – the presupposition lost – as ambition is swept up, orienting itself around a place – a wish, a force of heft – in acknowledgment

 


[Lightness Is Unfolding]

 

Lightness is unfolding,
a current
pressed

inside a breathing space
which is another’s
chamber.

The space could be protective,
latticed,
perceived in steps,

and never-ending.
Or with an end
that nonetheless will spill

in the direction
of a cloud
and a river.

The river has emerged
in conditions of sadness,
in imitation of

abstract flowers,
which have themselves
grown wilted

in proportion
and resistance.
As a face is blown across

a vacancy
in the breath between reactions,
one breath at a time

scalding, effacing
her mission,
loath to call sincerity

into the pattern.
Into the next one.
As once a feeling was permissible,

though impossible.
Coughed up
into the mordant haze,

the baffling work of terms
flute-like in their influence,
all infinitives

recorded through the light of
one quickening eye
and lift of looking.

The look tends to lower
now towards the left,
now towards the middle,

then despairing
of aspiration,
of trying.

Trying will loom
over the store
of ends,

and sharpness will mar
fingers
in the service of entry,

each suffering acute,
even, perhaps, rigged
to fix the plan

or transcend it.
The subject is then stirred
towards a conclusion.