Where are the dark woods?

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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