A sudden inhale of untended earth,
Bolt of electricity to the clay in my chest.
I breathe what I bottled long ago.
I glimpse the hill I do not crest.
The loner lives, deprived but well.
Silence feeds the timid beast.
Stranded in unending green
Yields forth an ample feast.
A moment known, a moment hidden,
And really, what’s the difference?
Once remembered, forgotten again-
I was born in past and present tense.
The wind must have changed.
Pruning season, my dead limbs fall
Lifeless, dry, beloved.
I grasp the death that thralls.
I hold it against myself, my soul,
Pressed against where it was severed
But death doesn’t grow.
It can’t be grafted or tethered.
At once, the limbs appear foreign.
Tossed back to a shallow grave,
I shuffle on, weightless, sore,
I wonder what the loss has saved,
I wonder at my design.
Long and low, these labyrinthian hours
Taper between moon and sun.
Shadows of our vital powers
Throw farther, nearly done.
Sent all away, barred the door,
Kept out to keep within.
When the pinnacle hemorrhages more
Silence instructs the inmost of man.
Turned once, the earth revolves again,
A kaleidoscope of hearts and hands.
Some inflict, redeem, resolve,
So it spins round where it stands.
viewingcamelot 