In October, transmissions paused temporarily in certain regions of the planet.
No marks made it to the page then, hence the retroactive declaratives.
If you looked up at the yellow dwarf star at the right time in the right place,
you’d see the culprits, sunspots, sitting there available to the naked eye
and readily confused with muscae volitantes, a.k.a. floaters, where loops
of magnetic field in the sun’s photosphere find their footpoints and launch
themselves out to its atmosphere—its corona—tracing arcs of light
so beauteous their optimization as screen savers is likely a fait accompli.
Set them to Vangelis and they make for even better ambience. The sun's
on its twenty-fifth eleven-year cycle, manifesting as alternating bouts
of languor and hyperactivity visible in the number of blemishes. News
has it that late in the month the sun had an outburst, hurling plasma
and highly energetic particles our way. Its mass ejection supercharged
the northern lights I've never seen and caused a brief radio blackout across
Earth's daylit side, centered somewhere in the South American vastness.
Whether is all connects or this is another instance of word magic falls beyond
this account's purview, this side of paranormal. Face the sun.        
                                                   Close your eyes. What do you see.
from the journal PARIS REVIEW
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I stumbled on an article about solar flares whose language captivated me for its resonances with the pandemic, mood swings, and other natural cycles. I wanted to write a poem whose allusions worked on multiple levels and contrasts how we trivialize cosmic phenomena yet still manage to stop ourselves in wonderment. The end references a gorgeously strange painting by Gala Porras-Kim titled “What the Sun Looks Like with Your Eyes Closed.”  

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"I had understood a first book to be all one’s successful poems put into a manuscript as though a shrine to a period or a portfolio of competence. Only once I gave up the urge to stuff individual pieces into a document as an archive of the ego could I write the book. The phrase “ward toward” came late but felt like receiving a revelation, upon which I formed a shorter manuscript that was a wholly separate entity from the storage unit I had accumulated."

via POETS & WRITERS
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Cover image from David Keplinger's book, Ice
What Sparks Poetry:
David Keplinger on "The Ice Age Wolf That Love Is"


"Dogor was discovered in 2019 beneath receding permafrost in this coldest region of Russia. The delight I felt (beholding his small face, seemingly glistening wet nose, whiskers, closed puppy-eyes, tufts of hair and preserved tongue) was tempered by a certain grief, the recognition that it was climate change that had made this vision of our deep past possible."
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