Those are my bones rifted and curled, knees to chin, among the rocks on the beach, my hands splayed beneath my skull in the mud. Those are my rib bones resting like white sticks wracked on the bank, laid down, delivered, rubbed clean by river and snow. Ethereal as seedless weeds in dim sun and frost, I see my own bones translucent as locust husks, light as spider bones, as filled with light as lantern bones when the candle flames. And I see my bones, facile, willing, rolling and clacking, reveling like broken shells among themselves in a tumbling surf. I recognize them, no other's, raggedly patterned and wrought, peeled as a skeleton of sycamore against gray skies, stiff as a fallen spruce. I watch them floating at night, identical lake slivers flush against the same star bones drifting in scattered pieces above. Everything I assemble, all the constructions I have rendered are the metal and dust of my locked and storied bones. My bald cranium shines blind as the moon.
Pattiann Rogers - 1940-
Forth Into View, Random Warriors
The slender checkered beetle, pale earth brown, sallies forth from among the bark canals of the oak, the eaten mar of the woody gall left dying. Her spiny yellow hairs sparkle in the summer sun. Lacewings, locust, and laurel loosen cocoon, carapace, and bud, shimmy out and pause, airing wings expanding like rumpled petals, spreading petals opening like slatted wings, as they pass into the new world. Toe by toe the children of the sun depart from the east out of living fire to become spikes, glumes, anthers, sheaves, broad montane grassland, flowing steppe, savannah, veld, wild horse pampas. The fiddler crab with his royal blue spot emerges beside the great charging dawn of the morning sea, scuttles sideways out of the drenched sands and savory mud bank of the tidal marsh. Now echoes in cougar lairs, snake crannies, coon burrows, the hillside den of gray fox. Moonrat's nose appears from the crevice in the bluff, sniffing fish and wormy mud. Turtle's beak shows at shell's edge first. Claws and feet extend directly. The smooth, golden-green swale of the trout swivels upward, breaks through the boundaries of sky with its mouth wide open gulping day. After parting the flap, after gripping the knob, after lifting the latch, after kicking the door until the hinges crack and fail and the hindrance falls, then the jaunt, the saunter, the sprint, the lope, the totter, ramble and meander, the traipse and slink, the shamble, shuffle, gallop and glide, the push against the beyond begins.