Eye of the Storm
and so
the day has broken white and breathless:
a crushed shell of cloud cupping the horizon like
an eyelid, and
you hold out your hand, and it is there
again, and change and changing water lights gasp,
recede
burn like cracked ribs. today
the gods have woken and poured their souls into the ground
and so white their souls, white sheet, white without, within, white wind, white in rain,
white in word and hue and stardom beyond and below, looking glass,
seeing eye, figures hurling and unwhirling in shapes along the roadside--
there is something to how things fall apart, how centers
lose their grip -
and never is the crow so lovely as when it lands and
opens, its legs pulled apart from
its wings and its head rising like
the place where the pen has broken.
look at the blank disc above, veiled, and he
will look back without blinding
though you may have to turn
and close your eyes
to read what he writes, in flaring points of light
on your soft retina
stars cutting through the fabric of the world and
also of your jacket
to spell your name: to call you out, out
to the edge
like lifelines and white lies and death lies here
and it is cold and still, god without heart, lake
of white and bone hail fallen into our open hands
like darkness, like light, like blindness strung
past the skyline-- and if you were a blind man, what would it mean
to know the world by the points where it touched your skin--
would it mean flight, continual?--
-- lifting his foot and in lifting, leaving
all proof of the earth.
and the earth moves slowly, unproven, under the open sky that rolls,
like a vast panel of light, shiver of air, shiver of water, gale without breath,
page without whiteness, bird without body, flightless and windless, the heavens tumble
and we are very, very cold just here.
A/N: COWRITING, BBY. IT'S WHERE IT'S AT.
EDIT (by Navita): formatting was shot, so attached is the properly formatted version. Since we worked on this a bit.
