Thursday, September 07, 2006

Sturgeon River Gorge

The slow grind
Of wood and stone and water,
Rendered in time-lapse,
Would create a roar
Whose vibrations, rumbling
In the patient medium
Of Time,
Would never touch my ears
But all the same
Would shake my bones
To dust.

I live and die in the spaces
Between these words; existing inside
An Utterance,
A Divine proclamation
That none will ever hear.
All the same, though, I know that
This Gorge
Is truly the mouth of the Gods,
And my gods,
How that mouth
Speaks.

3 Comments:

Blogger Jenny said...

Though we are a cog
The machine ceases to run
Absent only one.

5:55 AM  
Blogger essa said...

Interesting... I feel for your wife. I remember what it was like in the months preparing for deployment. I'd much rather be in my position... 3 months away from redeployment. I hope you had a lovely time home.

5:53 PM  
Blogger cinnabari said...

Yay, poem's back. I think this one is my favorite so far. No, I can't be more specific. :)

6:29 PM  

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