January 11, 2012

poem 11 of a poem a day for 2012

the estuaries of stone

somewhere near
the veneered
entrance way
the slight spill
of beaded moisture
runs from light
clinging tight
to the window
to gravity wanting
your Gorgon beauty
pulling in my tear
drop fingered blooms
that turn and turn
from finger to linger
and says soon
every part of you
tastes as it should be

I am stoned inside your vine
inside what says
cut the flesh that falls
and chant bone-stays
for the wind
to carve a clock into
lichen-star a reach
in the draped
design of leaves
and try to find
where every turn
back into you
has worn every single part
of what solids my fine
intersticed clear through
to another side
of what the singularity
of holding a thought
can be

as I am
motionless and
in the tides and
tied to time

EJR (c)

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