The Grave
The sky might
strike you
off balance
…
…
…
And the reedy milk
of yellow hair
streaked across it
fills the ear
sends (up) the
vulnerable skin
If you see a grave on the wall,
it might mean there is a light source behind you.
The light might not be
permanent.
I thought I had finally found my place
…
…
The sparks set finally on the sill
And how the sparks grew faces
I did not know
…
I was waiting for
prefiguration
Let me sit here on this step
For a minute
I am tired
measuring personally
sparks set finally on the sill
need to be alone
need it to be late
…
…
…
…
give now each self another life?
sparks are white
with a yellow suggestion
aging
orange in the woods
…
burned off the ceremony
…
I showed up with six drinks
…
I challenged the children
to imagine they were
on the bottom of a lake
…
sky above hundreds of feet
of glacier-cold water—
…
All the children ran first to the window
To look directly into THEIR valley
…
…
From the window glass to the mountains,
four miles in the distance
sparks set finally on the sill
The flattened fuses
of anarchy
You think there’s hope when
Having been hopeless
Look up to see a limb
of paling green hearts
Attached by a thin flat ventricle
…
…
And where there is no water
Nor suffrage, hell-blue sky
This poem is an excerpt from Brandon Shimoda’s The Desert (The Song Cave).
