deepundergroundpoetry.com
Maker's Pause
Red-veined iron ore slow burn
All made things pause, turn.
One low-slung star drops winded
Down for the count cold
Piercing an onyx deep.
A fulsome jade tide pauses
Her ebb deterred at apex
By a shiver in the axis.
A flicker, redoubling,
Slighter than the sparrow's running shadow
Wingtips slicing the cheekbones
Of an impassive, slant-eyed sea.
We fallen noisy dumb
Turn distracted blurred and blind
Toward tones brushing our whisker tips
Rung and winging high in mingling ether
Circling to, from, and looping back again
Carrying chords of freedom
Tuning fork fugues of praise, loss
Tolled beyond the register
Tracing on our brief exhaled plumes
The outline of a train
Rounding the mobius bend
before inhale begins
Bound on a wake of dissolving track
Home to the spheres
Are we near salvation, nigh awake?
In dense and deaf containment
Redoubling the charge through dark earth
Clamping the bit, urged by the reminding taste
Lone miners tunneling to the strains
Of an appetite for light.
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