L'aura del Campo

Thoughts of silk (provisional title)

Thoughts of silk (provisional title)

Caught between what was and what will be
I reweave these moments from unraveled strands
strengthen the web to support my breathing
one more day.

Silk runs through my fingers
patterns forming before closed lids.
One does not need eyes to see.

the rocks bloom in colors beyond paper walls
built 2 centuries after the fall from Grace,
from the ship that brought us here.
We mash beets. Soak corn.

Hollyhocks grow high around the lilacs.
Willows shade the beets; poison ivy protect the corn.
and the outhouse smells of rotting tomatoes.
It will need lime soon.

My hands flash between now and then,
pluck one errant strand that will not sing.
Discordant music pierces the calm.

This denial that all that was, all that will be
mere reused silk, now warp and weft
my hands have woven or will weave.

© Kåre Enga [6.september.2016 Missoula]

Random blitherings written during Xiong's poetry reading.

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