October 15, 2012

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 ©

1 comment:

  1. Very inspiring poem, finding something common in all us....my fav."our music becomes simple bow strings pulling at the night sky"
    Thank you, Edward for your art.

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