for Sandra Moussempes

                  And if this time I am at the foot of your bed considering shadows that are
                  alive and at the same time air, so your thoughts directly transmit into my
                  computer and flow with no effort like:

(memories we share of the sea)

                  If you sit and just think of chamomile and to convince yourself that you are
                  not sick with the flu I will imagine, see, flash, behold an image that I know
                  haunts, weights, weakens you:

                  And old house. A little girl sitting on her father's lap, comfortable, leaning
                  back, smiling. I imagine, recognize, survey that the child leans in, as does the
                  father, they touch foreheads, lead in again, and out, laughing. There are
                  horses outside eating hay, leaning in, and out, chomping and crackling. But
                  the little girl is not thinking about what is outside.

                  And it seems like a perfectly nice picture, but you don't like it.

                  Rest here on that chair while I go and conjure, scope, survey a different one.


                  The paranormal shows has just begun.


(that picturing which now is):

...peep, peeped, peeper, peeping, peer, peering, peered, peripheral...

                  Should I tell you what to do so that you can be released from the memory of
                  what happened in that house,

                  Should I dance and sing,

                  Should I marvel at all I know or wallow in sorrow over all I don't,

                  Should I be pretty, an old woman, a clairvoyant, a hag, a sage,

                  Should I ask you to peep, peer, project, watch while meanwhile, dimming...

                  Repeating. This image. This image. The way it makes me feel. The way it
                  makes me feel weak, weakened, weakening. This image, this imaging, this
                  imagination. This image is right in front of my mind, in spite of this I accept

                  Imagine the house now in color. Blue. Now a scent. Seasalt. And you can
                  switch to another image—you, in the water, feeling good again. A little girl,
                  swimming with waves in her hair. You as you are now, swimming with waves
                  in your hair. Making star shapes, floating relaxing like that. Imagine a vista,
                  viewfinder, vision; see it on a screen screening shining things, sighting the
                  picture that is there now, and see how it makes you feel, good like that. Like
                  that, now, think of the house:

dim, dimming, dimmed, diffuse...
even as it changes, is changing, had changed,

                  Or should I curse? Dance and sing? Make rain noises?

                  ...as if I could be anything but shape, shaper, shaping, shaped, sketchy

                  Anything other than continuity, fluid, flow, change,

                  changing we all are is:

(All we are is changing all we are &)


Photo by Sophie Prevallet
Kristin Prevallet is the author of I, Afterlife: Essay in Mourning Time, an experimental elegy designed by poet Jeff Clark and published by Essay Press in 2007; Shadow Evidence Intelligence, a book of conceptual confrontations with the form/content rift that occurred during the Bush II years, published by Factory School in 2008); Scratch Sides: Poetry, Documentation and Image-Text Projects, a book of form/content experiments written and designed in Quark and published by Skanky Possum in 1998. She was a 2007 Fellow in Poetry from the New York Foundation for the Arts, and her poem “Everywhere Here and in Brooklyn” was recently set to music by composer Colette Alexander and performed at Dixon Place in 2010; excerpts from the same poem were recently published in Spoon River Review and the online journal Tinge. Recent poetic documents that blend conceptual and collaborative works have appeared in VLAK: Poetics and the ArtsVIZ Inter-Arts, and the forthcoming anthology I'll Drown My Book: Conceptual Writing by Women. A member of the Belladonna Collaborative, she lives near the docks of Greenpoint, Brooklyn and works as a hypnotherapist in Manhattan.