there.

 

Lesley Stampleman

Racetrack/Moving Stones

 

A flatness of surface
language, even.

Sides of the lake are inactive,
save for the downpour.                       No outlet except up.
Surrounding rocks hauled at 70 mph across wetted dirt.
Overwhelmed water evaporates into a hard track of dragged out matter.
Of aging miniature rock, a small boulder.


A secret process kept off of signs and most people.
In this space, what is the race about?
If a rock moves on the playa and no one is . . . ?
Is this a fact or . . . ?

Sediment, movement, rain, surface, trail, afternoon, radio, lunch, wind, lake,
camera.


Try to capture what has already happened.
Try to keep it moving, carry and make it a place to return to
again and again in ink. On film.

                      Half dry most of the time, this is the south end and two inches lower.
We walked
three miles with a two-inch grade. Walked over our shadows. Cameras.
Shuffling and emotion. Erosion and the after-effect.

Walk. Pause. Negotiation of moisture.


Each stone given a name


After a rainstorm, water sinks through polygons on the surface. Stones are propelled by
compressed air between mountain ranges that surround. Naming again-Janette, Colette.
Those rounded create the most “sinuous” trail. We add our names to the list. Excitement
as emotion. We were running back and forth. Breath and foot. We absorbed across our
insides            across north corners. A place in the “back” of our minds for quite a while.
More than one synonym for “experience” exists.

 

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there 2008