to live under a rock
is to disconnect from made things
& live knowing
we are married forever to stone
that holds us. yes, to stone
& mud that parent us
& mark our passing in prints–
trace them, if you can
to the beginnings
i might live closer
but i was never that near
& will not speak for the one
was a rolled & shaped thing herself.
she knows by whose hands.
i do not have a mouth large enough to tell it,
or what she carries,
stamped within that core
heated soft as a jelly gem
but she is no ruby bleeding onto fingers,
or false. she burns, inside
lit from a time before eyes
& keeps her own light
When is the book coming out – you are astounding!
oh, Jules–thank you…Some time in 2013…wow, you have made me turn all red…
Superb ,,, you are among the best poets I have come across !!!
Oh, goodness, thank you!
blushing all over the place…..
I’ve been drawn to the underspace, and still am on occasion. I tend to refer to it as ‘turtleing’. “I do not have a mouth large enough to tell it’. Like the line lots.
Oh, Nelle, thank you. Yes, me too–love the underspace, what we don’t see.
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