[There is O hourglass follows me room to room...]

 

There is O hourglass follows me room to room

                --O, I say, for an would speak of glass and sand,

                (a mothering, sondering brand),

                O it is for no—

that fits about my throat,

a thousand-collared wrath,

nape of neck to deck of back,

my head aplat, the world a mure,

                --to which I throw my body flat—

desperate : in time.

 

These words’re thinged with seconds,

                --Can you see my fingers spinning?

                A pile of dirt thus beckoned?--

the firsts before, lain within

a crypt the store

of ossuaries grandest small,

recessed in grounds much smaller.

                --So stood on crying toes,

                our legs awake to thoughtless pain,

                and in such pain grown taller—

I reach for rungs rang quickenedframe,

and like the name denotes:

rung a seam, a themeless dream,

                --on which my body floats—

aspirate : in rhyme.

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[Chad Halle]

this poem is a blooming flower