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Ab Davis

I Know Nothing

 

I know nothing,

nothing,

rust on the tree,

spider,

a sump hole,

ant mound.

 

The leaves move visible air,

strands of hair, tattered rag,

the bent sound of a fly,

the clover long past magenta,

hushed grey

ready to spew

small brown seeds.

 

I know nothing;

the fine hair on my face,

the keen flush  

to a trace of wind.

I am waiting to calm my heart.

 

I know nothing.

I am closer to dirt,

the hole that collects moisture,

the denser crowd of weeds and grasses.

I’ll guess at the network of webs

hinged on the sides,

threadbare.

I can only guess.

 

I know nothing

the shade of my hand,

the boughs wavering

grey across the page.

 

Leaves lift.

Paper lifts.

My eyelids weigh.

I am breathing.

 

I know nothing.

Just this, 

just now.
 

 

Notes From The Cache Creek Journal

 

Needlegrass.

I have tamped my damp bed,

deer huffed, and waited.

My safe spot,

 

near the grayed edges of downed saplings

stained and cut by beaver teeth,

tongues, humming.

 

The black bees iridescent

are blue droning,

pass heavily.

 

The current bends the sound

of compressing mud 

and wood ducks

having sexual encounters with flourish -

 

as Cache Creek’s

banks sag and slough

pulling a new patina

for amphibians to delight in,

to mate, to camouflage

beyond any shade of brown.

 

Life brews,

in view or unnoticed. 

A slowing of breath, mind, and movement

reveals lavish abundance,

in the laid over grass.  

 

 

When My Arm Becomes a White Wing

 

When my arm becomes a white wing

delicate hollow bones will bend,

kite air.

 

My white wide sleeve fans, opens,

cloth catches high blue wind,

and clouds over the cut fields.

 

When my arm becomes an egret wing,

I will curve my long neck down,

 

lay my head against this bird heart,

welling, filling,

the faint sound, deep, and down.

 

Safe,

far off now.

 

When my last step leaves the estuary

take hold of my wings.

 

 

Ab Davis lives in Sacramento, CA. where she writes with a small group of practicing Buddhist women. Her work has appeared in San Pedro River Review, Current Bellowing Ark Press, Big River Poetry Review, Willow Wept Review, The Han Shan Poetry Initiative, Pig Squash Press, and Decanto (UK).