I cannot envision the elegance for you
a story fastening, cinching, and drawing through,
until its stitched closed like an eerie set of teeth
clenched until no space to breathe remains between
each tightly sewn up page -
a farce of sunlight aims its spotlight upon sparkling earth
gotcha, it beams, but no sun I know is so cold -
shivering, my mind stalks endless questions
with all the predatory excitement
of a lion amidst gazelle, an endless sea of queries,
sinking my teeth into each, I'm alarmed at my savagery -
but the book is closed, resting on my palms it's a potential energy
like a pendulum at its height, or a stone in the hand
this book is me, I'm just that stone
I fly, bounce over tense waters, sink and am borne
out to sea, I rise with the volcano, sculpt me into david
and the weeping pieta, I'm richer and poorer than I'll ever be,
I believe, and that sets me free from the stones on streets
ground into gravel for an eternity
- a nice sediment, don't you think? - do you?
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