A mother recovers

To heal, to make whole.
Thus, the blank space
between sounds.

Thus, a rift in tectonic plates.

The hands which beckon or beg
or beat, discovering
a source of light.

A bone knows which way to grow,
underneath all those sinews.

As in a call to prayer,
an invitation to come in
from the world.

As in being bare,
not brave or unbound,
seeking comfort in the small
justices of television plotlines.

The fluids of our lives
come to our rescue.

We press down on the sutures
while children swan dive
into this arena,

and our words become
intentions intercepted

no dividing was ever
done so gracefully

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Interstice

Swimmer’s feet kick off from
rock’s end into new shallows

in-between of suspension
heart buoyed up by succession
of events as lived in our 30s

a new clarity happens
with each turn of calendar,
as with erosion, distillation,

settling of silt onto river
beds and ocean floors

I wade with purpose until
I can only float

Swimmer’s body leans into water

lies down onto horizon
to glimpse the depths of fish

 


Revelation

Bristling black, oil green on black
the carnivorous head bent
with pinball eyes jerking,
glaze of glass

The beast hovers, hobbles
with an ancient gait,
giant from continual dreaming,
smothers everything
in sight of window.

Anxieties brew from
the underside up — coaxed
into skin and liver,
bred into flight from the brain,

on the nervous sill
the dried dragon’s claw
clicks loudly
deluge of feather and
day, gorged by shadow

and rasping reptile throat
come to lead me from my window.
Window and bird.
Large as life,
Someone else’s fear