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The Blog Bog

The Mag Rack


Sometime in long February
invisibility creeps in

people look
see only cold moonlight
where your breath has been

it's always the same

the bare branches of trees
snow after midnight
the swirl of stars

March balances
on the edge of spring

the last nor'easter
of the season
blows up the coast
on the map blue and white

snow across the northern ice
brushes and polishes the surface
that cracks and sings
echoing off white
rock blue ice

coffee freezes tossed in the air

and more layers
every year

the bay is whitecapped here
the tideline wavewashed and
balancing spring
you wonder where your life has been

a ghost apparent
against the empty beach

                            Gregg Weatheby


In this timeline
you may appear randomly
an errant quark an electron
lost in quantum space
weaving through the reality
of one small town after another or
this small town

out of a million skies
to pick this one
as if you had any control
over any of it any way

cresting the horizon
of that last hill
met with the same sameness of color
the brown hills the fogged landscapes
the ubiquitous crows
the skeletal stark black locusts
always the gray you recall
only the blues have changed
the row of finger lakes
startled by the occasional sun

eventually you return
to a place you never intended
with or without
all your faculties
your stories rushing ahead
to greet you
or shadows you trail like wakes
and following suit
you remember
events that didn't occur

the past
is a collapsing star
you shrink
from the crush of it

                            Gregg Weatheby


A man I don't know
(he is someone familiar)
stands in front of me
and draws a sign
an ideogram
first in the air
then on the ground.

It is a woman's name
it is lines in the air
it is furrowed dirt
(it is a woman's name
it is Brigid's cross of reeds
a square with arms and legs or
a knot exploded
(there were lights
no beginning
no end
(there were constellations
a logical bending of lines
             (there were ghosts

The man is replaced
by the dog
                 with the palest eyes
that reveal nothing

there are hands
tying knots

The dog is replaced by the man
(which is the shape shifter?
the dreamer appears in the dream
the man asks if I've seen her
says go to the place

I don't know the woman, the place
they are unknown to me
(they are familiar
I carry an armful of brilliantly colored leaves
that fly in the wind
birds and squirrels are busy all around
a dog with the palest eyes
a place and a woman's name

In a car I don't know
if I'm driving or where
(the dreamer appears in the dream
there is a kind breeze
the car is full of brilliantly colored leaves.

                            Gregg Weatheby