taut the barb which my heart
flung away and adorned – such language is black while
many others have their places that silence
had fractured.
the punctual shadow of the night,
I converse in them
through the pulse of the roots and their
consistent counter-beats.
the many others, whose centers encircle
heavy in their viscera:
enisled as a conference of birds
in plenitudes of brindled mouths – the augury
that sees itself, my full being – this nocturne
of stone-flight. the cosmic working of the sky
that hands me, a necklace of stars which implausible pearls
simmer in fond gleaming: these foundlings that are
dreamt away, and named innumerably across
many other anonymities we recall with a throng of sound.
in my hands the night folds like an origami
conscious of its florid ikebana,
as there could be another splendid thing
like the calm: glimpsed, coveted like the light
of all things grave in darkness.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 9:17 AM UTC
taut the barb which my heart
flung away and adorned – such language is black while
many others have their places that silence
had fractured.
the punctual shadow of the night,
I converse in them
through the pulse of the roots and their
consistent counter-beats.
the many others, whose centers encircle
heavy in their viscera:
enisled as a conference of birds
in plenitudes of brindled mouths – the augury
that sees itself, my full being – this nocturne
of stone-flight. the cosmic working of the sky
that hands me, a necklace of stars which implausible pearls
simmer in fond gleaming: these foundlings that are
dreamt away, and named innumerably across
many other anonymities we recall with a throng of sound.
in my hands the night folds like an origami
conscious of its florid ikebana,
as there could be another splendid thing
like the calm: glimpsed, coveted like the light
of all things grave in darkness.
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