breaking dormancy

rumination
within,

a surround of mist, a clinging and silent precipitation,
and yet

still not precipitating
anything.

(please, i am not ready to leave.)

the trees— dangling walls of blackened and violent lace
whirl against the smudged train windows,
contrast the grey and cooling fog of morning.

i am broken upon them,
splintered, sliced by the moons of a loose weaving.

look
here,
these are the glowing shards of myself,
coming to light in the foreshortening dark of dawn.

—

i have been rubbed so
raw over time
beneath sudden abrasions
that push through,
breaking the sediment
into crumbles.

watch the rock, the pebbles tumbling, the bits of dirt turned loose

and i falling short of myself.

(watch me turn around and gather them, this time,
to build a path of cairns.)

—

i grab hold of the insulation
holding the low attic ceiling
of this philosopher’s room.

the pink and shimmering wads like cotton candy
delicate and warming, a luminescent invitation.

i forgot
to mind
the hidden fibers within that can cut
moons into hands.

i release the grasp, the fists holding,
find open hands exposing wounds.

someone, please hold them.

—

i want to
rub my hands on rough concrete,
on summer’s corrugated metals,
on thorn trees and ruby coals.

on the greenest grass and slippery algae flats.

i want to
feel what breath begets

see eyes

breaking dormancy,

find my own moons.

—

this is the unraveling.
and this, the collecting,
once again.

*

~ by wehavetobehavetobeerrant on January 16, 2008.