they say the stars of all the constellations
when compressed onto the body
become the chinese medicine points and meridians.
so i walk with galaxies under my skin -
and i've already been told
dinosaurs in my brain and bridges between.
every construct and metaphor, ever leaf and twig,
snout and slime mold, cloud and fever
clings to the depth of my fibriles and forms.
i've got so much life in me, if i grin
the songs of creation leak out, a small
glamour of sculptor and reaper
whisps into flight on sound waves
of delight and dread. the same things
that bring us death make us whole.
the same things that make me whole will make me dead.
today, cedar boughs (my lungs) heavy with cones (breath),
the wind of what-has-made-me (the thrillion conversations,
with young deer and neighbor, magnolia and moth),
like a galactic zephyr, roll through my blood
and start me thrumming. a tuning fork
for stars unseen and seen, i start glowing and know
what brings us death will make me whole.
the same things that make me whole will make me dead.
which leads me to believe: this poem will never
end.
October 3, 2011
Image credit - thanks to Anonymous and their free fractal desktop image
My Goddess, yes, yes! That's exactly it!
ReplyDeleteThe clarity and simplicity of your title statement is so true and correct and clean-ringing like a bell gong, and your examples from the "thrillion" you had to choose from are so engagingly, welcomingly illustrative. This is such a clear song. I'm really thrilled and moved by it. Wonder if the strange syntax of stanza 2 was intentional given that the strange syntax elsewhere always adds up to a quasi sentence moreso. "This poem will never / end" Ah, what a right thought and so gracefully put. Really like this. Flashing on your next collection of poetry--this is one to include. Put a gold star, or a constellation, on it.