As

As

she looked at me, or through me, trying to photograph

the rain, and said the present doesn't really exist, the fetching

present, as the sky pushed open clouds, birthing rags

of light like snow, as she said this, her face a cameo of fire, the camera's

hinged greedy eye feeding on the bloated seconds as she

spoke filmy words, backing away, snapping shot after shot, I watched ,

the steps through trees the light makes, and then the darkness, the gradual

feathering shadows, a silence that seemed to want to fly.

MARK IRWIN'S fourth collection of poetry, White City, will appear from BOA Editions in January of the year 2ooo. He is Visiting Writer at the University of Colorado/Boulder.

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