I am trying to decipher the language of insects they are the tongues of the future their vocabularies describe buildings as food they can depict dark water and the veins of trees they can convey what they do not know and what is known at a distance and what nobody knows they have terms for making music with the legs they can recount changing in a sleep like death they can sing with wings the speakers are their own meaning in a grammar without horizons they are wholly articulate they are never important they are everything
O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fall; Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild, Should waste them all. The crows above the forest call; Tomorrow they may form and go. O hushed October morning mild, Begin the hours of this day slow. Make the day seem to us less brief. Hearts not averse to being beguiled, Beguile us in the way you know. Release one leaf at break of day; At noon release another leaf; One from our trees, one far away. Retard the sun with gentle mist; Enchant the land with amethyst. Slow, slow! For the grapes’ sake, if they were all, Whose leaves already are burnt with frost, Whose clustered fruit must else be lost— For the grapes’ sake along the wall.
I was inspired by some of the work of photographer Kenneth Josephson after seeing one of his images in Harper’s Magazine. His book The Light of Coincidence is a terrific collection of his work, and while browsing through its pages, I find we have similar aesthetic sensibilities.