> Canted bone poem

Canted bone poem

Par |2018-12-17T06:09:24+00:00 13 janvier 2013|Catégories : Blog|


When the wide world was still
to be defi­ned by a clo­sed mouth
you’d gather to your­self
hours scat­te­red
in the sun’s dry heat
wishing to prise the lips
of a single line open
              prise the flow of time apart

How dee­ply wrong were your move­ments
like a sleepwalker’s slee­ping awake
sleep­wal­king a wake — sleep­worl­ding
the cur­ved mir­ror of the page
tou­ching up the back­bone of stars

Poems grow in the dark, trace
the des­cent of sound
into silence

This is a song of silence

This is the sound of the bone
brea­king through the skin
of a slow wais­ting

This is the sound of your breath
las­ting through
like a man­tra

Indigo moon shade
white gar­de­nias
sun blea­ched hair
the mid­night swell
surf sheer gos­sa­mer
mood vio­let
sin­ging mother of pearl

No, it isn’t mere­ly the wind
whist­ling in your ears

            It is that fara­way inside
your head — a whole world
drum­ming in time drum­ming
on some utter mem­brane
hol­ding your­self
             hol­ding your­self aloft
wings bea­ting about nothing