poem 378 of a poem a day for 2012

still shot from the movie 'Splice' 2009

gestational theater in every language of the long night  

steeping the brew

finger tine reaching

blind crawl grubbing

to find the surrender

of worms

the play

is in eternal acts

and is in canto variations

of curtains and clouds

the wind is drawing

and opening words

trailing the entrances

and exits to find our bones

to skin the dark with

the harpies guide

the wanting behind

our closed eyes

they smell the sharp

sulfur decline

we burn ourselves with

when we hear them

clamoring off-stage

where trees sentry

the production to be

remnant gathering

what has just passed

from flesh to exhale

from pollen to grain seed

from samara to wing

then back to bleeding again

like we do, when

we are pining for silence

in the tea kettle hiss

we incubate our reason in

the cold desert

outside the window

that is Winter

toughens our skin

as the steam rises

against the glass

and gravity softens

our insides into cups

and curved bottom drops

kneading the shapes

of each dramatic act

each simple gesture

each piece of dialogue

we, the actors

condense ourselves

and pour out

in distillations

in common causes

we have paused ourselves in

reflecting against

our hardening skin

we scry for cover

with every soft

fertile vulnerability

we might have left

to fall and scatter

with the leaves

like the seeds do

when Autumn comes

and the trumpets fade

and our music becomes

simple bow strings

pulling at the night sky

EJR ©