[ToC]

 

FROM THREAD-CLOUD ATLAS

Sean Patrick Hill

The mystery
of
   the green blades
beside
             the garage’s ivy-covered
   wall was
that they became
                                   snowdrops

white bells Beloved let me
shimmer in you
and
draw
from this melted snow
the bell
that cannot be unrung

not be undone

this you
with your camera and skill with
              aperture

capture and
all things undone might not be and yes                    
we can
                let go can
                              allow

the animal
               of memory

mammal of
pain
    look how well we know
                           its language

we cannot listen to
any more advice
                as it travels mind to mind

only
the body will speak its small tone

give this ear, give this
green fuse
child lost to the forest and adopted
by wolves

ask her

Wisdom of the body
is
paradise

where we reside both naked
and furred

 

 

 

 

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This poem composed itself of gusts of emotion powering what, for me, is a rare case of absolute spontaneity and self-abandonment.