Breath
Held through two rock valley,
past the nude sheep and singing lambs,
through shafts of light offered only
after the dead have fallen away,
past deer carcass, skunk, barn owl,
offering, as they must,
roadkill married to moment’s glory.
It is never one thing
in the aching span between
in and out, pausing
at the tip of the tongue before
creation, again, saying,
Here,
How about this?
And this?
And then this?
One breath, shotgun wedding of truth
that this is your life, choice
to linger at the nectar of nothing,
the intermezzo before another starts,
the making of worlds
in the bellows of your sweet accordion
"To linger at the nectar of nothing,"
ReplyDeleteI love when I can recognize my experience of that ineffable boundary between what is and what is not inside another's poem. Thank you for that.
And the accordion image, too :)