Limbs Move Wind In

Limbs Move Wind In

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Light compressed to plaid faces
turns the water where the water

makes lines in his face in small colors
called halves.  Our failure

to appreciate the correspondence
between the two spaces made

all the more striking the fact we were told
explicitly about it.  Shape makes subtle

gestures revealing attachments: reduction
within boundaries, also of distance


With palms above their fingers

grasping they lift many times

the tiny boxes, glazed and weighted

to release.  Overlapping black

obscures much of what’s behind

this movement broadly projected

toward the observer as if conducted

in recognizable space.  The wire-

house appears as seen from its front

yard: one set of nearly horizontal



lines converges rightward; another

limns the front-facing planes

of the house and porch and diverges

away leftwards; there are four

window boxes; the windows appear

wedge-like.  Edges imitate visual

rays; we can use traces to posture

our imaginary eye level devotionally

below that of the observer, though

we may actually stand above her.


and through that unfamiliar
medium touched responding
places in the room itself.

With palms above our
fingers grasping we drew
many times the water

upwards from the water
where threads of black between-
matter made the afternoon

wet light through our
hands to bent rows
of pressure on the floorboards.












a more intense scrutiny of human
features.  He understands about

pictures.  They are maps that give away
hiding places; study is involved.

I searched willingly for the other
but failed to realize I had been given

any way of knowing where
it was.  Silhouette interpreted as shadow–

his hand puppets on a surface barely
visible a hiding event, one sort








These days of the winter half

months have neither the names

nor dates of weekdays.  They push

thumbs against the area between

the house and its relief where

fading edge continuity creates

irresolvable ambiguities.  Their

tender manipulation of the pill

boxes opens small spaces in

this plane others could also



occupy.  Wire-house turns;

the front porch appears nearer

than the back stoop and all stairs

appear identically sized.  Lids

down, they play at introductions

of occlusion–imagine outer

walls opaque.  This is a planting

of red in the window boxes,

a repositioning of their vanishing

point beyond each nearby exit.









If transparent, our perspective,
the water was a weight measure–
summer a side of an opposite

push to push down middle,
this the other way of growing
smaller the season

of indoor effects.  We turned
faces to face how closely
we set our fingers grasping

under the low light and the lamp
was a cold bulb turned
forward to forced bloom.
















of illumination.  I am aware
of the symbolic potential of certain given

details; arrange them into several sorts
of sequences.  The duplicate space

shutters.  He hangs the cut-out pictures
from strings in the spare room.

Proportion creeps in. Things that are
greater or much smaller than the objects

we are accustomed to alter
the space, make a lesser world






Or just behind the observer’s far

right temple where she stands

on the lawn with her making

fingers; in wire-house nearby

exits may be distant entrances.

The house possesses a triangular

quality; tracing its narrow to its wide

takes longer than expected. They push

one-sided images into solid as if

the real-world horizon were pictured


in the flat; they force in qualities

of ordinary spaces.  Widening

the hole captures more of the rays

but the images grow too blurred

to be useful.  The floor appears

as underground and the stones

of the walk as paper thin concavities

in the paper.  She finds as brought

her own anything she finds in this

construction still holding its own.









contained in the yard
where we stood in the yard
making finger shapes

into threads of black water
like lines.  Sudden illumination
opened through any point

dark colors that dispersed
into our grasping an under
the water as a surface

of shades etching weaker
our division, reluctant
into three–



















more livable.  Two representations
are active at once; images traced

through the pictures are visible
in reverse on the opposite side.

Connections exist between stages
of incompletion.  Our afternoon remains

unfinished–the bedroom wall still
not painted gray.  Unexpected

relationships form between
marginal images and shared objects–







Vaguely, one of two divisions

                               more or less approaching

                               equality.  Limit to halve what

                               pieces are found by another.

                               We do–imperfectly–in order

                               to present ourselves simply.

                               Each surface hides an opposition

                               another reveals, and reveals

                               fracture when necessary.  In

                               numbers the half holds the same



                               proportion to the whole as in

                               objects, but all connection

                               with side is lost.  They refuse

                               to believe we are figures.  She

                               brings her fingers with equal

                               pressure against either side

                               of our house and the pressure

                               makes her fingers potentially

                               unlimited bodies lifting the house

                               toward its margins, accelerated.









Our palms were black
backgrounds against the water
in the yard where the water

grew from underground
to that horizon drawn
past the end of focusing

on our palms lifted and so
large when inverted
they obscured everything

in the room.  We traced
rays from corner to corner
to indicate in the darkness

we felt our blackened
on the inside we figures
occupying spaces

others should also occupy
and our grasping
was mesmerizing because of it.


















the toy revolves a wheel that mixes
colors we take to be papers.

He knows that mark was made
by a nail.  We peel back the yellow

wrapper to reveal a minutely finished
production of the room in which

we stand.  He knows how to find
the four hiding places, drawn

and miniatured to the life, spectacular
those heavy lines that frame

the water with long periods
of unornamented inactivity.










Kristina Jipson’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming from American Letters & Commentary, Chicago Review, Colorado Review, Denver Quarterly, Diagram, and elsewhere. Her chapbook, How Void of Miracles, was published by Hand Held Editions. She lives in Indiana with her husband and very small daughter.


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