see edges today, or angles, or hear any pitch above G.  Sustained, tied whole notes

nestled within the staff, slow-changing minor chords to diminished sevenths.

I don’t want stillness of sound today.

I don’t want dry things today, mist flowering to snow in light, spinning orbs

floating down, as it happened in my dreams.  I don’t want clearly seen things today,

no glasses or high-resolution photography taken with

a zoom.  Windows filmed with ocean salt, my eyelids a blurry, crystallized

border to my vision, a fog softens colors.  I don’t want boldness today.

If my heart asserts itself I will say with my hands, Stay within the ribs.  If my voice

speaks too loudly I will show it pictures of that deep blue we have seen before, which

is bigger than life.  And if my hands want to make squares, I will dip the brush in a

glass of gray ink wash—I will not wipe the brush’s sides on the edge of anything

first, I will not set cardboard beneath the paper to protect the table from the

seeping, the water, may it keep speaking through

.

.

–Anacelie Verde Claro

Journey of sweetness.

Journey of patience.

Journey of gratitude.

Cálido y frío.  (Warm and cold.)

Unos claros.  (Clearings.)

En capas.  (Layered in.)

Above photo by Jason O’Connor

Dura.  (Continues.)

Nuevo, conservado.  (New, preserved.)

El camino.  (The path.)

Finalmente, lo hicieron.  (Eventually, they did.)

Liberado. (Released.)

Etéreo, flotando.  (Ethereal, floating.)

Érase una vez…(Once upon a time…)

el Amarillo quiso al Azul.  (Yellow loved Blue.)

Todo.  (Everything.)

I waited awhile for it…sometimes patiently, sometimes pleading with the petals to unfold.

And then, while staring at one flower, another one blooms.

It seemed as though the apples reddened overnight, unbeknownst to me, and very-well-knownst to the red finches.  They have been sharing with me, a few apples here and there.

The yellow roses are the sneakiest of all the flowers in the May House garden–and always a sweet surprise.

These friends have been enjoying making shooting stars.

Sometimes I imagine a world of blanket-sized rose petals that I get to sleep under, fragrant and sun-warmed.

All photographs by Anacelie Verde Claro © 2011

All water droplets created by the hose (though it has been raining here).

Lichen and petroglyphs.

Wildflowers.

Flowers with a view.

Mica and granite.

Quartz with mica flakes.

Moss and lichen.

Guardians of the mineral rocks.

At the time, I wasn’t aware of this–I didn’t even realize that I had my camera turned 90 degrees until later, when viewing all the photographs together.  In the photos was the evidence:  this landscape has been built from the top down, from mesa to hills to fields…all the way down to the footing of the homes of those who lived here hundreds of years ago.

And still further down.

Ladders and low clouds also lend a hand in verticality.

Exploring ruins may bring out the archaeologist in me, who sees things in cross-section.

I don’t like to fight with a door.  I’ll frame what it’s framing.

Sometimes the camera just follows the contours.

And because I believe in balance, and because I love the panorama, the eyes may now sweep…

…and take in this luscious place.

© Anacelie Verde-Claro, 2011

and mouth drink,

eye keep hold

of rippling sky

and ear tell us how low

the water sings,

throat be a river

and mind, world

of cascades,

move to your stillness.

–Poem & Photographs by Anacelie Verde-Claro © 2011

Here is a poem-sized corner of it.

This is also a special moment in The Friday Poet’s history:  it has collaborated with another blog, OC Metal Solutions, to bring you dear readers a double-post on the gate’s making and installation!  That means two unique perspectives, as well as many more photos.  So please visit here  to read more about the May House’s newest creation.

Steps to a Gate:

MATERIALS & TOOLS

Post diggers, wet saw, hose to make the wet saw wet,

wheelbarrow, cement, round steel, square steel, pry bar,

corrugated tin, cedar planks, trowels, levels,

a welder (machine), a welder (person), chop saw,

cell phone, screws with a funny tip,

brush and stain, sunscreen, water

1. X MARKS THE SPOT

The scoring.

2.  JASON’S PART

The wet saw (aka saw with a hose).

3. MY PART

Concrete removal by pry bar.

4.  JASON’S PART

Post digging.

5.  MY PART

Transfer of dirt to backyard via wheelbarrow.

6. GATE POST SETTING & LEVELING

Many techniques and measures were used to set the posts straight, permanently straight, in the cement.

A.  Modern-day levels.

B. The Ancient Egyptian technique of water leveling.

C. Another classic way:  with string.

7.  JASON’S PART

The troweling.

8.  MY PART

The gate inscription.

9.  JASON’S PART

Making a gate skeleton.  It was a lot of welding:  5 panels, plus a walk-through gate.  Go Jason!

10.  MY (FAVORITE) PART

The cedar wood preparation.  I used 3 things:  exterior wood stain, brushes, and an inspiration photo from one of my favorite home magazines (published in Albuquerque!), called Su Casa.

Introducing, the wood.  Before:

After:

11.  WOOD, MEET STEEL.

The layout, cutting-to-size, and screwing-in of the boards into the gate panels.  I held the board in place while Jason encouraged each screw through the wood, into the steel.

This is my favorite panel.  By “accident” I laid out the boards in rainbow order.

The walk-through gate.  It needs a handle and deadbolt.

Sabi’s new door, since his driveway is now closed in.

12.  THE GATE, ALTOGETHER NOW.

It has been a stripe-y celebration.

You may remember me celebrating this date last year.  This 4th anniversary is particularly meaningful because the house has been tested to its limits recently; some things have broken or come to the end of their lives (like a corroded toilet lever/handle and a gas dryer that was as old as the house), while other things (like certain locust trees…) are better than they were before.

There are even a few small additions, like a driveway gate (pictures will be forthcoming), purple irises, and a sky-blue birdhouse, waiting for its first occupants.

As those of us in Albuquerque remember, back in February we experienced a week of sub-zero temperatures.  I think many of us were curious how it would impact spring.  May House’s red rose bush, the one outside the kitchen window that I look at every day while sitting at my table, almost didn’t make it.  I had to trim off 3/4 of its thick, well-established branches…and then wait to see what happened.

Today, I saw this…a reunion between old friends.  The house is saying to the rose, “Hey, I didn’t think you’d make it back.”  And the rose is happy and resting.

My locust tree came out of winter even stronger–the sapling I planted a few years ago now looks like a bonafide tree.  It has a shadow and everything!  To prove its coming of age, it blossomed for the first time this year.  Pink, fragrant blossoms.

Another tree is piling miracle on top of miracle.  As you may recall, my orange tree blossomed for three months straight.  It has only rested a few weeks before exploding into blossoms again.

There are about a dozen healthy oranges on it already, which one day will be juicy and sweet to eat.

Much of the garden seems not to have noticed the sub-zero temps, nor the lack of spring rain.

(Note:  the droplets of water are from the garden hose.)

My apple trees look as though they will yield a bounty of green and red apples.  I will have to have a fruit-eating party when everything ripens.

Inside the May House, there is no shortage of miracles happening.  Common interests have created two friends, albeit timid.  The sofa seems to be neutral territory, especially when drenched in afternoon sun.

And the kitchen screen door is like a communal watering hole.

While the garden has been slowly coming back despite adversity, I have been inside, waiting for spring…

…and adding as much color as I can all over the house.  From left to right:  the hand-painted birdhouse; a honeycomb wall (featuring a homemade quiche with cinnamon piecrust cookies); and Gus, the Singing Red Dryer.

I guess all I have left to say is thank you.