About Deb Scott

I sketch with words & images. Sometimes they make sense.

a stone in a river, 23

So many fly under false notions
yet Crow’s tail feather breaks

then splits
against a sliver of blue sky.

/ / /

Still casting back to Carolee’s line, “the false notion.”

I saw this for the first time, a few days ago. Crow flew in the fir, and his tail spread against air, leaving a glimmer as he sat. It was lovely. And usual, for those with just the right perspective.

Two, crows. Actually.

catching carolee’s plane

How to Set a Boundary in Units of Moisture

It’s not the silvered wings fault
they think they move,
make progress to some point
identified as necessary:
Gate, Oklahoma or Dodson, Texas
near a magical line on the 100th
meridian that separates wet from dry.

Every signal fires the same
starry glimmer through smoke:
Tears well our eyes and we
are as separate as threads
& can reweave our own pattern.
This fluff of time is all one
cosmic tea, but we who live
in clicks of clocks can serge
an edge in our bolts of cloth,
pink the cut edges. Keep
the threads from ravelling.

/ / /

Skipping stones with Carolee — I like her silvered wings that can’t kiss, in combination with an amazing dream last night concerning vast amounts of the most amazing bolts of cloth I have ever seen, amazing sewing novelties that made me squeal in my dream (no, I don’t sew), a thin ultralight bicycle, and living in Texas. I wish I could paint the clothes for you. Or any of it.

Yes. I have too many metaphors in this. But, well. It’s a first draft of a something.

Read more about the 100th meridian, if you are map nerd like me.