Jack, be
January 26th, 2012 § Leave a Comment
nimble:
his eyes dart to and fro with the flame,
passing his hand over then through
no burns, no ash, but warmth.
his foot pumps the piano pedal
his fingers flutter an octave
and the eardrums write out the sound.
he does not concern himself with
the flight of a glacier down the continent, the molten core churning,
Only the man on the moon with prayers in his toes.
jack flips the switch on the television set
tunes out the noise of a broadcasted dream.
jack, be
quick:
over and through but grazed by shrapnel, huddle behind the tank
listen to the heartbeat of candlelight
with the coming of winter in a winterless place
in succession, in a dream:
the snapping reach of the iguana’s tongue, to snatch
and elastic gravity of a tangerine falling from its tree, to provide:
all else is untold,
just jack in his sleep
outwitting the ghostly pyre.
his mother’s arms sculpt him again,
his head drifts to her shoulder:
the winter is ahead again, and unyielding.
shouts in the night to absent voices
a resting mind with mind for you, for me, for them,
not for himself.
and for all the darted eyes
of all the pointed people
jack hops the candle twice
over then through:
that’s what you call nimble of mind,
but burns the body thrice.
