Losing It

Marbles roll across her cherry table

late night.  She upset the jar of Earth

azures, goldstones of Mars.  Her dang-

ling fixture spotlights glass worlds spin-

ning across the linen. 

                                    Wrapped in middle

ofthenight aloneness, she jumped when the

fridge hum kicked in and stirred up her calm.

The smith melted silica for her; from his panes

he twisted up spheres, sealing their liquid spirits

inside.  In the flame, storms struck shell to center,

emerald meadows grew under the rain. 

                                                               Their cases

hardened, imprisoned inner things in protection as a

soul in the kitchen darkness scales her skull to escape.

He molded thousands of flowers in domes to save them

from themselves, to freeze beauty in death’s silence.

                                                                                     Still

petals inside keep blooming in their colors—spilled spirals

spread infinite arms, vortices tunnel her core, spun as blood

ribbons swim crystal bubbles, refusing that slow paralysis of

forgotten dead.  And each unsocketed eye sees itself rained on

her wooden floor, losing itself under her oven in the dusty calm.

Otoliths, May 2015




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