August 13, 2010

it's in the friction
(crooked meeting straight)
touch
where sparks fly

you only bleed
when the thorn strikes your flesh
so it's in the movement
that love comes out

warm hearts, apart
freeze over like the pond in winter
trees lose the soaring outwards
for the growing underground

knowing the presence just past your wall
(hand on wood to hand again)
it's the testing of your faith
in this place, amen.

4 comments:

Michael said...

This is insanely lovely! The more I read it . . . the more it changes shape, or its meaning deepens. I'm glad I didn't just read it once through and move on!
And even now, I'm sure I'll find more that makes it mean more later . . .

It seems fitting with the meaning(s) of the poem that I won't say much about the content now (not even entirely sure why it's fitting) . . . I just want to say that as far as your poetry goes, this is one of your best -though that is rash to say (I am prone to rashness, I'm afraid).

Art said...

oh, I'm so glad that you like it! (understand it)

and perhaps the words take on meaning through the context of living, beyond even what I intended to mean when I was writing it. This is something I appreciate about poetry.

"not even entirely sure why it's fitting" Hum... and yet it seems exactly right.

Pensword said...

I really enjoy this, for so many reasons. The images it brings up in my head are quite striking/lovely/devastating/fitting.

Kris said...

This, my dear, is wonderful. For serious. I'm with Michael in agreeing that this is some of the best poetry I've read by you.

I'm so glad I took the time to re-read it... and not give up on it like I do for a lot of poetry.

<3