leaves floating on freshening breezes, crispness in the air, penetrating colors, preparation for the quiet dark of winter
The stone strikes the body, because
that is what stones will do.
The wound opens after the stone’s kiss,
too late to swallow the stone.
The wound and the stone become lovers.
The wound owes its life to the stone
and sings the stone’s praises.
The stone is moved. At the stone’s center,
a red hollow aches to touch the wound.
The gray walls of its body tear open
and the wound enters to dwell there.
A stranger picks up the stone
with the wound inside and carries it
with him until he dies.
won't you celebrate with me
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
both nonwhite and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay,
my one hand holding tight
my other hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed.