Tuesday, August 28, 2007
The feather of proof
An age-wide thicket of seconds nudge
me, snag me, slow me: I’m burning back
dream-chaparral from the country of days, smudge
sun-up and sundown with this shaman’s sack
as we smoke out what’s unchanging from time.
Mirror, metal, glass and spark cache infinite
kindling—every surface, texture, rhyme,
the hot-carbon bone-baked elegy of minutes
ticking and cooling, snap-crackle-pop RGB
coals cleared from yesterday’s soot
by a gust of chained moments blown free,
pixels drifting around time’s buried root—
look: as the winged iris shutters and tracks
unsequenced grace, where nothing lacks.