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..."
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I said nothing
I just listened
probably, as you did
EJR ©
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