October 19, 2012

poem 391 of a poem a day for 2012

 painting by Agostino Arrivabene ©

twisting the roots of my flesh for candy

there are invisible armies
tiny denials in the rain
where has Summer gone again
they mill about, murmuring
in the maple leaves
in the stain of departure
I fall with them
to where salvation
only wants me
to whore myself
painting each entry
into ruins of absolution

I ask myself
where do souls go
when bodies are not
cage enough
to hold their light
where does gentle assuredness
silently voice faith in one’s self
where are the markers
on the runways
that the closed eyes
of Winter arriving
need to pillage
my remains with

Autumn is a clean sweep
an embrace of distance traversed
with the cold night ahead
filling up with my foul bones
feasting turns toward
the waiting loam
each waded tide
is a fetal curl back
where dreams are born
one molecule 
of surrender
at a time

I turn into the deepening rain
and hoist my umbrella
tasting the spray of wind
reminding me
that gravity is still
the least understood force
of the Universe
that gravity is what I poach shape from
where I perch myself
on each tenuous branch I can
bending, bobbing and weaving
more for failure than possibility
more for letting go
in the undertows
than to stand for redemption
in whatever precious may be left
in our Goldilocks zone
at the third stone
from the little yellow star
we call the Sun

eventually, even
a heart’s luck of ignorance
can only last so long
as I truly believe
that winning
is anything that
can't be done
without losing something
that eternally thirsts
inside you first


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