free verse


Fall away from the world
and from your limbs;
believe in the promise of relief,
if you can,
and conceive the significance of the sieve
that tries to hold everything in
but through every tiny hole,
lets everything go.
You, with your sieve-fingers
that can hold onto nothing,
trip yourself tiredly on
and step past all the things
you have left behind,
all the words you have let slip
through every tiny hole in your mind.
They are the things that water every
portrait of spring planted in April;
they are the things that hail the
post-apocolyptically pre-dawn darkness
that will come when you have
let every ray of sunlight slip
silently between your
pointer and middle fingers.
You, when you have let slip
every magic word you know,
float up past yourself
to the level of the clouds where
your words have evaporated
and live as drifting vapors
for the geese to fly through.
Inhale them into yourself
again through every tiny hole in your skin
and when they have filled you up
to the brim and the tips of every hair,
fall back to the earth
and march across its deserts
and swim the length of its seas
and lose your words again.
Give yourself up to your sieve-ness
and let the plankton live
off all the things you let slip
through every tiny hole in your heart,
let them feed the whales with their syllabic bodies,
the whales who never see you
as you swim by
but feel the waves you leave behind.
You, let everything slip by.
You, you are destined to lose
everything and to regain it all.


One Response

  1. lovely imagery.


    Poets Rally Week 43 is April 5-11, 2011, Submit a free verse via the link provided.

    Bless your talent.

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