A returning dream ruffled in my shell,
opening intermittent passages of discovering.
Crossbreezes and singular infinity,
by death and dying you buy me whole.
The slug’s flesh merges miraculously with
the curve of a leaf – white pink on green, more potent
than a drop-cliff, than rebellion.
Stroking the skin of tree, I end up here, in the morning,
with the nesting squirrels collecting torn newspapers, swaying
with the telephone wires. Brilliance plays like chords
on the brink of chaos, almost fracturing sanity.
Suspended firm like a branch over traffic,
I hear riffs like cars arrive then leave.
Sleep, little lilac near the fence, I have learned
determination can solve most problems. Tomorrow I will make
the final break, orbit beyond the periphery of natural selection.
God, scoop me up in your cone, don’t
let me doubt your goodness. If you are here,
I am living, I can let slip what I am capable of,
create origami with infants and animals.
I can climb the steps of any probability
just to feel you press up against my rigidity,
purify with kneading pressure
a hard illumination.
Copyright © 2012 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “Chicago Record Magazine”, 2014
You can listen to the poem by clicking below:
“Allison’s poetic prose is insightful, enwrapping, illuminating and brutally truthful. It probes the nature of the human spirit, relationships, spirituality and God. It is sung as the clearest song is sung within a cathedral by choir. It is whispered as faintly as a heartbroken goodbye. It is alive with the life of a thousand birds in flight within the first glint of morning sun. It is as solemn as the sad-sung ballad of a noble death. Read at your peril. You will never look at this world in quite the same way again. Your eye will instinctively search the sky for eagles and scan the dark earth for the slightest movement of smallest ant, your heart will reach for tall mountains, bathe in the most intimate of passions and in the grain and grit of our earth. Such is Allison Grayhurst. Such is her poetry,” Eric M. Vogt, poet and author.
Reblogged this on The ObamaCrat™.
This is restful.