8.06.2012

Torn Page

Torn Page


What do I begin with this ongoing
omnidirectional conversation of ours,
t
hese fever dreams where meaning
evaporates just as everything is about
to make sense? So many doors but

turn back and the hall becomes a maze.
Going forward solves nothing.
I begin again where I fail to be.

The fever breaks. I am in a strange room.
I am no longer afraid. The white sheet,
which is the wind, caresses me naked.
Fire cools me. Everything is in reverse
and unraveling. Finally, I can breathe.

A hummingbird flits through my rib cage,
pauses on my sternum. I have no sugar.
I know the passing hours by their colors
and sounds, and I with them
an ancient tooth in the tide, visiblethen gone.


asha