viernes, 24 de agosto de 2007

Inside nothing

A sun-fed engine, the inside constant.
A flower taken whole.
In winter our wings move faster,
to keep the sun inside,
inside nothing
and we fill the nothing with suns,
line them up, swallow sap,
swallow field, drop by drop,
each step a pump.
Rose to rose
to rose to rose
to rose to rose all summer gone,
calyx and anther.
We move still faster,
fields grow constant,
inside the color of heat.
Clinging we pull our bodies
across a chain of bodies,
become the chain,
climb nothing,
always up,
toward suns,
line them up inside us,
a flower taken whole,
a field built inside.
It rises.
Each blade.
Each sun.

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