07 February 2012

Echo & Ache by Carolyn Guinzio

Come back, sound of out-
stretched arms. Look away
from the bones pieced back
together. Last bright vision,
they buried the loved
little dog in the mound,
little bowl. A quarter
moon in a daytime sky,
a season at the threshold
between barrenness and being.
Lean, lean, to rupture.
What the clouds
come to cover is still
behind the clouds. Nothing
can banish what has existed
into never having been.
A bag in the back of the drawer
holds the teeth
that would have been
sorcered away
back in the other world,
back when the other world was.

(from Free Verse, Issue 21, Winter 2011--
http://english.chass.ncsu.edu/freeverse/index.html )