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by Marina Dawn

Something in the darkness before us knits the ancient,
strings up the silhouettes of stars.
There is a depth in this cold that sends off sparks.
And every once in a while a burst of wind that I recognize like origin,
story, knowing somehow
this wind has never stopped, but slept
eyes open, huddled in sage and sand.
I want to call the animal, animal. Who said spade?
Spade is just mirror for man.

This night is a thing with teeth. It holds
our hands in its jaws as though to keep from bruising them,
cigarettes still hovering between the knuckles,
perfect as offering.

Very young, once, a cat chose me. It would climb in through my window
and leave birds in my bed, feathers fine as fur. Very young. All of them
as though erupted inside, spotless.
One day on my pillow
I found a parrot, full grown, green and silent.

Here is the city. The buildings rise from it like stitches in fabric.
Like goosbumps in skin. In a few minutes I will slide on to my bicycle
and weave the streets.
For now the wind wheels, yowling
and raises us.
Dogs in the desert lifting their heads to meet yellowed moon.
I see now how even stillness
vibrates subtly. A garden of rocks emits sound.
We breathe light. There are needles on its tongue.

11/06/2006

Posted on 11/07/2006
Copyright © 2024 Marina Dawn

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Jared Fladeland on 11/07/06 at 07:03 AM

Very young, once, a cat chose me. It would climb in through my window and leave birds in my bed, feathers fine as fur. Very young. All of them as though erupted inside, spotless. One day on my pillow I found a parrot, full grown, green and silent. This part strikes me the most... Hmm. I never ever told you, but you had a profound influence on me as a writer growing up. I don't try and be you, or anything like that. But you made me realize at a young age that I needed to think outside the box to express myself fully with words.

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 11/07/06 at 07:37 PM

The first two lines are magic. From there it takes my mind into a world where humans are a part, not the ultimate, of things powerful and ever present.

Posted by Lacy D Phillips on 11/08/06 at 05:47 AM

This is superb. Truly breath-taking.

Posted by Steven Kenworthy on 11/10/06 at 12:27 AM

holy crap. this is good. so far the most underrated and underknown poet on the site. this is silk. exquisite and touching.

Posted by Jared Fladeland on 05/04/07 at 02:48 PM

I have always loved your work.

Posted by Bruce W Niedt on 05/04/07 at 04:38 PM

Very magical and cosmic - superb use of language here. Congrats on POTD - well-deserved! d:-)

Posted by Elizabeth Shaw on 05/04/07 at 07:57 PM

Amazing imagery and mechanics, like a colony of ants on a teaspoon - only smaller & more profound. Thanks

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 05/05/07 at 12:46 AM

Congrats on this fine POTD!!

Posted by Angela Nuzzo on 05/05/07 at 05:39 AM

This is beautiful. It makes me think of how the American Indians feel about nature. And yet the last 3 sentences seem very much like a Chinese or Japanese statement. Excellent piece, Marina! :)

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