CHRISTINE MOORE

Out Moving Sound

Here is a vanished
mural on
a missing wall.

          Magnolias, globe artichokes
mis-planted in June.

          This piece of music
          is not suited for dance –
          too much free-flight
          between the chords,
          exaggerated muscle jerks
          in the harmony.

Beebread fed to the sick child.



Thursday, 
a needle’s hole.

Quickly thereafter,
a rhythmic illness.


Kami paper is choreographed in folds.


          I am an eye
          and I cannot visualize
          my own border.
          I am a binary star
          and my common center 
          has gone missing.




The act of rebuilding pulls the moon towards us.