REELING AND HUNKERING

REELING AND HUNKERING

(Under Sandy’s Fire)

Rise up in distress,

descend in compassion--

I used to hang out as a blond.

Controversial and twisted,

a hurricane of night’s questions--

not much could shake me--

                                           now--

other than life, or one glimpse of death.

Life is a language of red lines and fallen trees,

a quiet way, a convincing fire to demand a step aside.

She is a resurrection of her windy sin,

a sheath of rain reflecting.

Her soul’s body is listening to

the crank of hell left in my heart--

a callous which no longer defines me,

time’s evanescence  tunes the morning light.

I will not be my own burden--

rummaging through the

dialect of guilt—

it was a moment when the bars in my heart

began to melt.

She looked at me last night

and questioned her meaning;

I looked at her today and

understood mine.

If I speak too loudly, I will be the prisoner.

If I walk too hard, I will crack.

I remember in the quiet of midnight

the owls’ unfathomable flight.

TJKG