I.
There is no
stopping
this kind of devotion.
A bar-tailed
godwit just flew
12,000km without
stopping to rest.
In the middle of
a storm,
I open my mouth
for water.
How do the sun
and stars
look to a bird’s
eyes?
What are the
spells
to ward off
longing?
II.
Thank
you for drinking
the
medicinal bitters:
dried angelica,
dandelion root, and ginger.
This poem doesn’t follow
the recipe.
I pat the back of
your heart.
This must be
where the spirit enters.
Early morning, a
spider crawls out
of Rumi’s
ghazals.
III.
What
are lungs, but sacs to carry
a
risk of drowning.
With water wrung
out,
coat pockets are
deep enough
to hold a face or
a myth.
Meanwhile, a
woman jumps
into the river, becomes a siren
on the rocks. I am dancing,
wearing
songs like different coats,
a
tassel dangles at the end of every nerve.
IV.
These wings are a
soft blow.
How we speak to
one another
is smooth and
rubbed.
Sometimes, I weep
while speaking.
A stone
holds a mayfly
fossil.
Everything I’ve
ever pined for is here:
watermark of
abdomen, stamp of carbon.
When I die, will
anyone notice
my tiny spirit?
the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan
No comments:
Post a Comment