I’ve come for you, cushion-soft
instead of being wrapped, we’re loose salt
and spray / solid and shadow at once
a frame brightens lime when one of us speaks—
lime for live, in medias res
I wish I could get caught up in doing—
its mystique from long ago, collages
and mechanics of someone’s inner world—
there’s a grief now,
as we practice the rites of mourners
except in relation to mirrors
in which we hitch rides to other stories
birds have so much more space to fly
though we hadn’t been living in air
we want so badly for this not to be
just a means, a shared root.
Click here to read Shira Dentz on the origin of the poem.
Image: “Rock dove” by cuatrok77, licensed under CC 2.0.
- Slight of Hand - December 26, 2020
No Comments