Obscurity and Voyaging
The hand was having a hard time holding the pen.
A superficial cut.
A long clear silent night.
A book held open by a dolostone.
The occupant selects a sentence, No one knows
how small the smallest life is.
If there’s a call, it will not be answered.
A bath; the burning of sweetgrass soothe the limbs.
As a memory stings the brain.
The furniture serviceable but weird, on the verge
The vein of light under the door is a comfort
To the occupant.
The air inhales the passerine lines of a single singer.
A motorcycle saws through the song and goes.
An appliance purrs at intervals.
The pen was bought in Gubbio near
the thin band marking the great dying of dinosaurs.
The pen, a gift.
It has been designed to coax a scream
of beauty from a fissure
Iridium in the nib.
Copyright © by C. D. Wright. Used with the permission of the author.