Poetry by Bob Heman
  Art & Recital by Author
Collage © 2006 Bob Heman
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The animals painted a different color and allowed to return. The direction of the light adjusted differently as each one enters. The different entrances identified by the others as wounds. The way they are sewn only an aspect of their identity.

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Sometimes the wolf is only painted into the room. Little Red, when she enters, cannot be differentiated from her grandma. Together they form a sequence that excludes the wolf. The hunter recognizes this when he enters. He paints a hand that draws the wolf into the story.

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The bears form a sequence in the story. An intruder has entered their house. Someone has eaten their food and slept in their beds. A flaw in the plot does not allow them to see her. Instead the smallest bear finds a single golden hair upon his pillow that will fuel the only fantasy he will ever know.

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This was the shadow cast by the men who were cut out of the foreground. The music that accompanied them was also filled with shadows. An animal or a machine was implied by the hidden light. Only the door supplied the required caption.

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For those who live in prayer the real night never does arrive. The men and women continue to walk up and down the same hill until some kind of certainty rests upon them. The birds will always fill their memory's sky. Not one of them ever stops to speak.

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No longer able to transform the page. His hands falling through the table. The table only an idea he once had. The room itself an idea to those who have not entered it.

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All kinds of time are available to the traveler. She is given no clue about which kind to choose. The wrong choice can leave her waiting forever on the dock for a boat that is always about to arrive. A different choice can make the journey go so quickly that she will not be able to remember anything about it. Whichever she chooses she will still arrive home on the same day at the same time, to the great joy of those who have remained at home, counting their time only by the postcards received, or not received.

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The man is not allowed to be arbitrary. His outline is spoken into many situations. Sometimes he leaves or is shrunken to a dot. The other dots are friends he will never meet.

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The man fills the seat. The woman's hair continues to extend. The animal was blue before they ever saw it. The water was painted on the ground. They were not able to step inside it.

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The comfort of disembodied sounds seeming to answer each other, like two small birds just out of each other's sight, cheeping back and forth as if to say to the other "I'm here, I'm here," just that and nothing more.