Where are the dark woods?

By | 28 October 2013

they were always there
from the beginning
infant eyes open and blink on them

the world as it always was
unredeemed by history
abashing childsight in a whitening room

and other quotidian amputations
flaring distantly now a starry abstraction

inflamed absences
eat the scratched and damaged skin
imagined as soul

who can afford to flinch at pain
the one gate left open?

that memory of complete sufficiency
a dark pulse of heaven

we have already been there and won’t go back
astir in the knived light

This poem first appeared in Attempts at Being, Salt Publishing, 2002

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