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Meditation on Transmission 

The map on my
tv reddens the
way a wound
might spread
across skin,
here, the earthÕs
blue body brutally
infected, its slim
shape shrunken
somehow huddled,
like a child waiting
to be picked up,
held, carried to its
bed and sung to sleep,
in its dreams, death
comes dressed as a
doorknob, a handle
on a bus, a button,
a bowl of nuts,
the sun-stroked
sky, a whisper, a kiss,
and it says breath
of my breath, and it
says take me inside
you, and it says,
teach me to multiply,
and the earth
says, Look, I am
living, and the
earth says, holocene
and the earth
says, if something
isnÕt burning, it is
incubating, and
the waters do
not part, and
the sun does
not slide into
its black box,
and the stars
do not switch
off their lights,
the rain does
not ask the
ocean for
water and yet
above a
chorus of
clouds bristles
with birds about
their work
reminding
not everything
moving through
the air destroys.

 

Meditation on Transmission
Dean RaderCalifornia, USA  deanrader.com  

MEDITATION ON TRANSMISSION: This poem was begun in March at the beginning of COVID-19 pandemic and completed in early April, when it appeared in The San Francisco Chronicle.

Dean Rader has authored eleven books, is a professor at the University of San Francisco, and a 2019 Guggenheim Fellow in Poetry.

Bullets into Bells: Poets & Citizens Respond to Gun Violence, Eds. Brian Clements,
Alexandra Teague, and Dean Rader, Beacon Press (Boston, Massachusetts, USA), 2017
Self-Portrait as Wikipedia Entry, Copper Canyon Press (Port Townsend, Washington), 2017.
Suture, Simone Muench + Dean Rader, Black Lawrence Press (Chicago, Illinois, USA), 2017
Landscape Portrait Figure Form, Omnidawn Publishing (Berkeley, California, USA), 2013
Works & Days, Truman State University Press (Kirksville, Missouri, USA), 2010