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Standing in the Open Field
by Marina DawnStanding in the open field, I find a sudden sweetness
in the different, meeting airs:
the momentum of my breath builds a burrow in the wind. Spirit
might be this wordlessness working a nest in the word.
It happens the way that time moves within itself. The living
recall how they have lived, and it is as though the spirit is stuttering.
In my dream I called you 'home' and the word made a pain
like winter's light in my body, white and cold.
It amounts to nothing much, in the waking world, a spot of dryness in the mouth,
or a wound.
Pray, mind, dream me a word with no face. Say, Crater. Kiln. Hummingbird. Firefly.
Say, light on the ledge of the window, lighting there. Memory is this moment
containing itself, luminous and long
as water making a cave in the edge of stone. The speed of my breath
within the speed of the wind.
Poised as lips, at the rim of a hand
cupping an absence the size and smoothness of an eggshell, deeply drinking. Spirit
might be this.
04/24/2007 Posted on 04/24/2007
Copyright © 2024 Marina Dawn
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Tom Goss on 05/04/07 at 04:37 PM Elegantly original introspection, guided by a beautiful poetic voice. We reach deep inside our emotions, and we pull things out. |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 06/09/07 at 12:53 AM See in this an attempt at conceptualizing material and spiritual relationship. An engaging poetic enterprise. |
| Posted by Richard Vince on 04/13/10 at 06:54 PM mm. very you. :) "a pain // like winter's light in my body, white and cold" is lovely, and reminds me of the feeling of breathing clear, bright winter air; painful and exhilarating all at once. great stuff. :) |
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