bits of string from elaine equi

if only we could get
that feeling back where
it's the landscape that moves
and the viewer who stands still


/

... but if I've
become anything, I hope it's more tolerant--
even on the very rich. ...


/

There is a point where mourning becomes
luxurious. Deeply inhaled like a cigarette,
sadness settles on the skin. ...
... The windows are boarded up
with art, but real wind blows through the
paintings. ...


/

and my favorite:

A hand
leafs through
autumn

with a logic
that shines
like oxblood.