Tuesday, July 29, 2008


by JKD, after "fire-making for" by Beverley Bie Brahic

Knowing which trick ( leaf ) fire will apply, the string of
twig-switch to fern-feather stripped tinder spark. Lay
underneath, as stone. Cool moss’ damp cavernous body
craving tin rooftop’s ping. Raindrops patter-hand greeny
underneath : outer layers scab-soften to startled birch.
Shy shedding of self. Then white-bark, starling-scatter
whisp of voice long-settled on shoulders. Skin, translucent
as embers. This, delicate as ashes with all destruction behind.
It’s one of those knowing missives, wind rising or letters transferred, braille over which leaf applies to the sting. Here’s where light catches, but here, too, dark returns. Thought burrowed, caught.

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