Sinking, the pomegranate jewel dissolves
in an orchard warmth, extinguishing
among the dark roots of the good leaves
lining the curve of the bowl.
I do not want it to sink and die.
I want to keep it long alive and watch it
burrow through the stones and wood,
the endless lines of pipes and wires,
until this wet globe splinters from its core,
a dry leaf, an old ornament,
a long-forgotten fragment
reeling in the avalanche of space!
Drifting, the jewel settles
and falls along its course,
sinking into the rift between my hands
and my impenetrable hope,
burning until I break from the center,
a tree of dry leaves, an ancient ornament
dropped at the foot of a blank and ageless wall;
shattered and burned,
rising on the air, utterly still,
entirely at peace in the carrying throes
of the complete freedom
of emptiness.
Sometimes I just feel like I'm repeating myself with words like "elemental" and "beautiful" etc...those apply here, but so do serene and plaintive and powerful. It's always a pleasure reading your work and at the same time, I often feel a moment of regret that I cannot write so well....
ReplyDelete-Alex (T, not A)
You write well enough to flatter the spit out of a fellow poet, my friend. Thank you. :)
ReplyDelete-Dan H.
All I can think of is a pomegranate seed. They're weird.
ReplyDeleteAnd, uncharacteristically, that's more or less all I have to say about this poem because I feel completely lost in it.
I very much like it. The imagery is rich, and it really makes me ponder the overall thought and scene.
ReplyDelete