Olyver Currant: February by G.M. Palmer

The moon will not be full this month; the night
will cascade in the darkness of white stars,
waterfalls of light pricking the black face
of the night sky’s impenetrable rock.
All the world will be blinded by the falling
of faint green-white light through the harsh blackness;
in this darkness I shall be purified,
deep within the ground of my empty heart
I will forget you, or at least forgive
myself for holding on to the silence
you’ve left behind.  I will watch for changes
swirling around the stillpoint of my stillness.

I am enraptured by the soft stillness
surrounding me in this cold winter’s night;
the absent leaves leave the trees in silence
and the wind that doesn’t blow won’t forgive
the trees, ignoring the storms of its heart
and oblivious to their own changes
as a dim green starts to grow on the face
of the Earth, below the pale white stars
of the night sky: a desert purified
with no white face, angry, bright, and falling
in stillness forever from rock to rock,
spinning in eternity’s great blackness.

As the waning moonbeams draw in blackness,
thoughts submerge me in turning and stillness;
my soul is buried in the ground and falling
still, never to be fully purified.
I will be equidistant from all stars,
the center of the universe in rock,
encased and imprisoned by my silence,
languishing in eternal, moonless night;
unable to see or touch any face,
the blood will no longer flow in my heart;
silent, there will be nothing left to forgive
or remember but the moon still changes;



despite its waning, the moon still changes;
drifting further and further towards blackness,
toward the center of the night’s dark heart.
The loneliness of change that I will face
grows with the shrinking moon of each passing night;
the moon has sinned, and the night won’t forgive
its trespasses; its turning, its falling
toward the Earth in eternal stillness,
its revolution of change and silence,
its bright white light mocking the minor stars,
its renewal, each new moon purified
by the play of light and shadow on rock.

If there can be the renewal of rock,
if there is hope in the way light changes,
if cleansing can come from the air and stars,
if I bow to the ground in pure silence,
if life and music proceed from stillness,
if my spirit can be purified,
if there is a spark of light in my heart,
if there is more to the night than blackness,
if there is an end to all this falling,
if there is a dawn at the end of night,
if there is water to cleanse my pale face,
if there is only one way to forgive

then I will find that one way to forgive,
I will find water in the barren rock,
I will find laughter in the darkest night,
I will fly at the end of my falling,
I will shine through the heart of the blackness,
I will find joy in each beautiful face,
I will bathe in the pure light of the stars,
I will dance spry as the music changes,
I will give hope to my faltering heart,
I will hear the voice of the soft stillness,
I will feel the thundering of silence,
and by these things, I will be purified.



I sit in this swamp, feeling purified;
the swamp is a desert who will forgive
the clouds and the rain for their long stillness,
taking their gifts into its marshy heart,
resisting dryness, resisting changes,
resisting the offer of dry silence,
and reveling in the dark noise of night,
the sounds of bullfrogs croaking on wet rock
and owls guiding themselves by the stars;
the swamp drinks in the night’s holy blackness
with verdant passion.  The moon is falling.
I am greeted with a slimy toad’s face

as it leaps up, water splashing my face;
but this place is no longer purified,
city lights threaten its green, hungry blackness,
they dare to rival the shine of the stars,
the dry streets strive to replace the wet rock;
at the edge of the swamp, trees are falling,
the noise of life replaced by death’s stillness;
the rape of the swamp I will not forgive,
thievery and lies under cover of night.
I dream that I can reject these changes
but I see that they have blinded my heart;
the swamp, already fallen in silence,

terrifies me.  Surrounded by silence,
the violence of changing greets my face
and my senses with its sudden sharp changes;
the night is now no longer the dark night,
the sun has risen from the Earth to forgive
all the flowers and warm nature’s soft heart
with respite from the omnipresent blackness,
showing my the swamp is still purified,
untouched, its lichens and ponds in stillness,
sunbeams gleam bright, drying out the wet rock,
relieving the cold of the winter stars
and keeping any snow from falling.



As the sunlight bright is on me falling
I remain, like the swamp, in solemn silence.
I am still a statue, still the dry rock,
still trapped and suspended in stillness;
my mind, however, has been purified
by the gesture of wishing on the stars;
and my purification wrenches, changes
the thought of you, but not of your face;
your memory is all blur and blackness;
I have forgotten what I should forgive,
in the beauty of the dark cleansing night
I have lost the patterns drawn on my heart.

You are no longer trapped in my heart,
there is just a sense that I am falling;
I have forgotten the way to forgive
and have only washed myself in blackness.
Unpure, in Lethe I have plunged my face
and brought myself to eternal night;
the sun now seems to be only a bright rock
in the sky, pouring out light and silence,
bringing with it no respite, no changes,
no way to show my new soul purified,
and I am still stone, still trapped in stillness,
not ready to rise up and see the stars.

As I was lost in the pattern of stars,
I relinquished what I thought froze my heart.
I extinguished flame to be purified,
but in anger made all the wrong changes;
when there was a voice I wanted silence,
when there was dancing I wanted stillness,
I wanted to feel all the world forgive
without my hands’ work.  As I was falling
I could not reach out to a branch or rock
to pull myself to the rivershore’s face;
I only fell deeper into blackness,
not wanting guidance in the darkest night.

I ignore the night and the coming stars,
smashing my face, I fall against a rock.
My mind is falling fast into blackness;
I cannot be purified with a heart
that won’t forgive; the darkness brings silence,
the changes cease, and I am in stillness.

About G.M. Palmer