an exhibition of collaborative works by artists and poets


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My silence grants the rowers
their rest. On bad nights we feel
the winds’ bite. On good nights
they’re a balm. What casually falls
casually arrives: remnants of
unnamed stars. My shout throws
a switch. The city flinches. Nearing
the headwaters, we turn. Desire
expands before us even as distance
extends behind. This crew, these
unsown seeds in a pod, floating—
in us are the woods.

copyright Nance Van Winckel
Nance Van Winckel
Cecilia Woloch
                                (after a photograph by Peter Turnley

There is almost nothing in this room.
One couple, not lovely, not young anymore,
dancing in shadow.  A woman. A man.
The white sleeve of her blouse like a wing
just grazing his shoulder.  His hands at her back.
His profile tipped gravely to hers as she steps
in her black heels, precisely.  Toward him, away.
They have closed their eyes to the world and the world
in the mirror behind them gleams softly, grows dim.
Perhaps when they turn we'll already be gone,
who have watched them so long,
who would capture them here:
as if from the cage of the body the heart
might be lifted and cupped, again lifted, let go

copyright Cecilia Woloch
This poem was published in
Faultline, the literary journal of the University
of California at Irvine, spring 2005