January 25, 2016

splitting atoms only divided the houses

painting by Erik Thor Sandberg ©

splitting atoms only divided the houses

<this poem is a could have been love's irradiate bloom, 
tombs and catacombs beneath my imagination's 
cities by the sea, their scalloped 
and reed-ed marshes, 
we had for seed, 
this to lay claim to, 
to flood with fresh water
for our fields of wheat, vegetables and beans 
would not grow, on their own
this poem hears and sniff-crawls 
in felt along, caught, cut tree bleeding 
kinds of meandered ways...
ways, we've ceded bones to rain, 
ways, eyes never could 
pick up or hide when 
not to know how much 
further, a memory 
might need to see into 
all the places souls ripen 
and take to, between 
every light and shadow 
every ritual and happenstance 
of their heaven(s) and hell(s)>

poem says...

"I'm a cardinal
on fire against 
a bare budding bush
I'm wanting 
in desperate words 
to melt in a way
as if ice, cast 
in the wake 
of your smile, 
some tossed flight
straight towards Spring, 
something I hold like this, 
some kiss, flown, tickled 
by wind, on a string..."
I said nothing 
I just listened 
probably, as you did


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