Graphology Materialism 45: Mandyooranup
‘Su origen no lo sé, pues no le tiene,
mas sé que todo origen de ella tiene,
aunque es de noche.’
San Juan de la Cuz
Higher than most local terrain
and overseeing the river.
I might reroute via carapace
and feather, float on the strong-
smelling limestone flower.
Tradies, working on an avenue’s
mansions, take in the view
and process their doubts.
Eddies over the river, slicks
of surface tension, night
held in by repetition.
Each point a renaming of renaming,
the true name resonating
as I drift back, floating.
Restoration of habitat, telescoped
crane whose counterweight
swings out over medusas.
What umbrage a god will take
in my seeing you as the essence
of matter, adjectival declensions.
A flotilla is neither the waterbirds
gathering or leaves on the water
as canoe paddles flicker.
Where the channel is deepest
the heavy fish measure
strokes towards sunset.
Always the fast boats cutting the skin
and dispersing a prism
with ‘natural’ frosting.
Keeping to the eucalypt’s wide shadow
even when the sun is low,
steps under the cliffs.
This is my prayer, San Juan de la Cruz,
not far from Carmel with its walls
and strait view of the street.
John Kinsella
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