Joseph Torra


A crowd gathers around the scene of an accident. Wave after wave of
low-to-the-ground cumulus clouds. Ocean in the air.

An ancient use of color fields and architectural relief: behind a
screen, various dome shapes appear. The eyes are questioned.

Within confines of geometry, the tower that once stood on top of a
hill has been reduced to landscape with figures, its history written
on long-lost scrolls. Gray and blue remnants.

Rain falls in agitated sentences. Not to say trees planted before the
flood will be uprooted. Fear is matter of running water. Distances
stretch longer than we like to be without control.

Streams of detail adhere to new contexts, gradually yield to music.
Footsteps, the only means of percussion, parcel out continuity. Eyes
and ears grow accustomed to the flow.

Apparitions appear irregularly along the edge of a ravine or in the
wake of storm-clouds. A few blurred photographs the only records of

Water running through pipes. An authoritative atmosphere.
Conversations say I'm sorry. I'm perfect. Do you wish to join me?

Clouds return--negate the sun and moon. Pitch and fall of
cloud-patterns intimate turns of lovers in water.

Impenetrable walls fingertips split probe for cracks and a way
through. Ill fits into the shape of order.

Light through a window illuminates green and blue glass jars lining a
shelf. Inside each container a system. The bubble of colors escapes,
as does the jars' ardor. Heat-fibers manipulate the air. Daylight,
propped-up, suffers mythology the glass-blower creates objects within
breath's detail collecting fluid impossible to be carried by hand.
Want-laced brew.

Suddenly the wind shifts. A supervening smell in the air reminiscent
of place. Burning leaves in fall. At the foot of stairs, the base of
tree. Heard if before. Faint tapping at pipes and walls. Smoke
watering the eyes.

Gravity and structure shape the stream circles at an eddy its current
divides a large rock, water rises, speed increases. That crucial
road-bend certain times of year water edges over on both sides.

Trees feel wind blows patterns. Signs recognizable lines traffic backs
up. Someone  hands out water in old tin cups. Attempt to make a way
through the crowd. Call for help, mark the spot called from cut of
building's roof-line.

In the event of panic emotions arrange snow-cold indifference. An
impermanence waves us on, frame after frame. The unwillingness to
bloody walls.

Echoes of sound-waves heard above scream. Breath destined to free
itself higher above the stream straighter  line the moon retreats

Tides attract, collide, repel. Sound a siren holds a breeze hollows

Rain recedes to drizzle. Wind breaks a tree's limb. Cement thick fog.

Drafts whistling window frames, floors, doors and walls. Leaps made in
dream at odds with weather.

Between buildings snow drifts. Words lacking a proper language falling
into states of perception in white waves.

Boston 1999 Index