from THE RAGGED WRITINGS OF EVERLAND
A Pencil Made of Mirrors
A Pencil Made of Mirrors
A release of
breath and creativity’s set
One letting go
and it settles in shoots
One twirling splay
of dandelion clocks
And a shedding
parasols for fullness
With a telescope
made of ropes
We pull the
music through the smithy
With a pencil made
of mirrors
We write the
counterpart of one beneath
In a fire wrought
of the back-to-front
The hidden excellence
of his broken lilies
We fling caution
aside but hurt inside
Sunbeams shine
through our every severing
Low over water shadow
swans fly raiding
We sift through their
river’s braided strands
We pick up their
glass of perfect lavender
Their pungent capturings
in a flow of words
Why does the
fire waiting take so long?
When will we
cease pulling and leave alone?
Our white cluster
of dandelions wipes up
A dead sword
formed of a page of weeds
The trees know;
they bend and let go their leaves
They know the
day their gold sap ceases to rise
Surrendering
they understand the smithy
And rest in him
and pick up and start again
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