Sunday, May 2, 2010

home #1, fragment

Home #1

Where you are,
and the oak leaves, threaded
by a green needle
held by a shade-cooled
hand that pulls
the hesitance of spring
into summertime
with a chalk-blue
breeze. Where
my mother
birthed me. Where I birthed
myself. Under cathedral spire,
a Russian priest named Yuri,
the first lines of Ariel,
the priest’s hands in blessing
over wherever you are,
on a grey sandy beach
building forts from
smooth driftwood.
In the half-second pulsations
of life-blood,
the quick, steadying breath—

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