Thursday, March 7, 2013

Clod

Clod

Kernel of dirt. How is this the namesake
for cloud, who looks into the sky

and sees the insignificance of earth,
makes the thought a thing by saying it

while another human ear is near enough
to hear. So much about a place

is unremarkable enough that we
do not speak of it, the sheen of water

that allows us, mostly, to see within
and above it, as skin shows us

the desire or rage inside by
reddening. That’s not a puddle, says

someone, that’s a pond. My word,
says his companion, that’s no

pond, it’s a lake, and they agree,
and then they leave, and never return.

3 comments:

  1. I love this...most every single line

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  2. I read this twice just to fully capture it...lovely :)

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  3. I like the whole thing, but this really grabbed my attention: "So much about a place / is unremarkable."
    The forks in the road venturing out from that . . . well, there are quite a few.

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