Ensoulment

 

toward meeting
shaker village
canterbury, nh

Ensoulment

 

Slice of ice or

            like a pie’s pastry

                        dough lining the glass

                                    plate.  Layer,

                                                layer the folding,

                                                            rolled, folding, rolled

                                                                        like a samurai

                                                                                    sword the heat

                                                                                                the smelt of

                                                                                                            iron sand

 

does it know it is being

            cajoled?  does it know

                        it is to be ensouled?

                                    Is it ensouled?

                                                If it is, when does it become

                                                            unensouled? Does it need

                                                                        a priest to go into the smelting

                                                                                    pit with it

 

to be remade like

            pastry? These who know

                        their way in these layered

                                    thoughts of dark, their 

                                               fingers & grips.

                                                            They say easy

                                                                        easy, being

                                                                                    beaten this way

                                                                                                is the making

 

of everything

            it touches: lips,

                        tongues, roofs

                                    of the mouth’s ruga:

                                                those folds that form

                                                            so early in utero: all that salt

                                                                        & water & dissolved ion.

                                                                                    & those who fold the steel

                                                                                                who coat it against its own

 

corruption

            those ions, tell me

                     don’t they seek 

                            corrosion from the very

                                    start, the very first

                                        exhale, to be set free?