the careful city, the walls of water, the stone that tarries the sun, light

held as liquid, between the teeth the plum

in the wide mouth, the plum & its tender tired center

in the empty field, where we fill the pockets with ash,

our hips wretching speak. say, what truth. what we, in being become.

the thing that quickens, slows, moves the food-blood,
moves the air & earth. the pinking of our hearts, eyes.

the body that extends & turns
its blackest axis towards the small & beckoning light, heavy in its soil made pure,
the bones like broken reefs keeping watch. the waves that find their way,
all brillance,
all still & able

as love, deliberating on its study of laughter, begins to understand,
we belong to what ripples us, the fingertip that bends the sand like glass

05/23/2002

Posted on 05/23/2002
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