read
write
members
about
account

 

datedatememberrandomsearch

April 2, 2012


My eyes are gone. 

I can barely hear the chorale. 

I have been staring too

long at this

curious little

pattern of

swarming dots

and they carried

my eyes off as I

danced on a fine wire of current.

 

It was grace you know. 

Grace taught me to breathe

and grace taught me to sing. 

In pause,

the fleshy ratchet of brain and bone,

is listening

for a breath larger than the forest: 

the soft rise of the Earth. 

This air pulled into my lungs

tastes like music.

It has me on my knees,

pulling the soul out of me.