A poet asked, what did light say
about a stone? That one
afternoon in July, the earth heaved
and all the stones holding our city
together came loose like bones
dropped from their skeletons.
Or think of that day when soft
bodies of caterpillars fell from trees
onto heated pavement slabs and writhed
until they were stretched out and still.
I stole my own torch and ran as far away
as I could to make fire, having learned you
can't bore a hole into something that believes
it is unbreakable. Instead, water will furl
around it. Gazing into the shallows is one
way to bear looking at the light.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.