To Walk Without Shape or Sound

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That I cling to this cold sleep,

show little effort to be removed . . .

In nightmares of symbols grey and mortal,

fears translate all my hope

into an impatient temper, and I stand,

arms folded, with threatening glances

turned toward the window.

That I will not move from this unhappy

bondage, give the world the wave it deserves and

rejoice, full force in my non-belonging . . .

That I lay with false sorrow, my numbing wounds

displayed like so many movies, consuming

all thought and vision . . .

Drowning in unutterable loneliness, I

cannot pray this bad taste off my tongue,

cannot claim my home inside the lightning jaws.

I have seen the light abandoned for the hangnail’s

torment. I have seen this darkness, dug my head deep

in its flaming mud.

 

But this is nowhere:

 

There is only

the circle, the spiral journey

up

only to be like the animals and angels,

uncommitted

to the weather’s foothold.

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Copyright © 1997 by Allison Grayhurst

amazon.com/author/allisongrayhurst

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First published in “Poetry Nottingham International”, 1996

 

 

You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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