everything pressing into being
I have traced my hand through clouds, climbed
into my boat and sailed across the day You seemed to me
a little child and graceless
The washed linen sky of morning
midday the air drunk with light
evening leeches it out of the sky
birds chortle, bedding themselves
night a moth harbors in my lampshade
the hours inch toward tomorrow
I learn to quiet my hands and scatter the grace in your eyes
I have traced my hand through clouds, climbed
into my boat and sailed across the day You seemed to me
a little child and graceless
The washed linen sky of morning
midday the air drunk with light
evening leeches it out of the sky
birds chortle, bedding themselves
night a moth harbors in my lampshade
the hours inch toward tomorrow
I learn to quiet my hands and scatter the grace in your eyes
you burn us
choking clouds my eyes are dead to light
my ears pound
exalted, drunk
and slender-ankled virgins
crushing soft flowers of grass
as colored threads unravel
a mingling of all kinds of colors
choking clouds my eyes are dead to light
my ears pound
exalted, drunk
and slender-ankled virgins
crushing soft flowers of grass
as colored threads unravel
a mingling of all kinds of colors
Merry Benezra is the author of the novel Special Karma: A Zen Novel of Love and Folly. She lives in Mountain View, California.
IthacaLit: Lit with Art, A Journal of Literature & Arts © 2011-2019. All individual works copyrighted by their authors. All rights reserved. Credit IthacaLit. ISSN: 2372-4404