557 Readings | 1 Rating

Invocation of the Wisdom of Objects

                        i. made

O spoon!

Sing in me the whorled air

of your thumbprint bowl,

your spine’s tense arc, grace

of yielding to any fingers’

thoughtless clasp. Could I

maintain my calm warm sea

before countless yawning

caverns? Navigate in darkness

the blind rocks of bone?

 

                        ii. found

Sing weight and silence, stone.

Sing the rain along your back

stippled with lichen, seeping

moisture through your core,

exhaled as needles under burning

sun. Unmoved, you bear the load

of churches, of hope and anger

through a thousand footsteps,

or make your mark beneath the dark

descending hoof in tangled field.

 

                        iii. lost

Feather, strive with deafening

air, wielded in feints with

sudden gusts until you tear

loose, shed the follicle. Discover

flight in rest, find earth by weightless

rambles. Always your vaned rachis

sings the absence of the bird.

Posted 09/09/14
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