Electric Breath
 |
| Wind-- Lake Winnipesaukee |
Electric Breath
(maybe
I’ve loved
this grief too well)
Bleedthrough
How speaking creates her or even
better her singing breathing sweeter
to the air it’s born out on all those
osmosises into their own wind the syllables
to each their own float or fall
how birdsong is totally breath and scent
sung out to be seen
by the species the way people maybe
see the remarkable
chemistries of dust in the sun.
& her color becomes those all those
utterances. I wonder
if it would
come to pass that we see the word & song
the way we see our own
breath in the heavy cold
& then watch how it is taken
into the sheepfold we didn’t know
had been built outside of us directly
beyond our cheek-
bones & each word herded
by a whistle and a hup/hup trained dog
& taken up the ramp to the truck
to bear them
away to the slaughter-
house would we be more
watchful of our lambs, lambs we midwifed
ourselves lambs we brought through
the caul of the womb, the lips we parted
for them with our tongue like a blind
kept closed to the night cold. & behind
the drape we opened, the glass
we breathed our own
breath into when we parted the patch
to light and our breath cleaved it to each
cheek so the lamb, stunned now like any new
born thing brought to the sun, would suck
the first drop of colostrum from our tongue
& bleat & build up a shriek
for more & more & more . . .
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