Monday, June 15, 2015

some warmth

A Morning

A worm thin as an i or a snipped thread,
of a synthetic green you would never know
was natural, the knot of its strange blood
a little gemstone ticking in its head,
risks death on the rim of my sleeve to knead
and softly knead its half-inch of earth.
This perfect being flung itself unfelt, unhurt
as a breath, from a birch leaf. It liked my heat
and curled up to wait through all the turns
of the dark, there where I hung my naked shirt,
because it believed without words
and without knowing it lacked the words
that every day that wakes some warmth returns.

1 comment:

  1. the language of these lines suggest to me kissings, This perfect being flung itself unfelt, unhurt/as a breath... !!!

    and how your thin i has such a presence in the vocabulary of the poem, thin, snipped, ticking, risks, rim, half-inch, birch, shirt.

    even dark, lacked, words, wakes and warmth suggest mouth))))

    warmth is such an enticement. thank god for the bodies of worms and shirts, for lovers and language.