Thursday, December 19, 2013

The Crow

When the mandala moon goes missing
and the god's-eye stars of the sky
go timely blind,
there are quickenings and contractions
in the uterine night -
a breaking of the fallow.

Seeds in the softer places
Tendons stretch
to feather flesh the trellis bones.
Sugar sap spills
across the steps and stones
of every day scarred hollow.

Morn and midday nest swallows.
But, midnight cauls the crow.


hedgewitch said...

Just amazing use of language in this MZ. I'd quote, but I'd be reciting the whole thing back at you--the final couplet slaps the reader with an image that can't be forgotten.

Fireblossom said...

All the best poets write about crows. I've always said so!

I agree with Hedge; you know how to arrange words so they sing--in this case, a shiny black song.

Kathryn said...

I felt like the words were just rolling around on my tongue . . . really love my visits here.

Susan said...

Soaked in images of womb night and birth, I still had to stop to look up "caul." Gosh! Even better! The crow IS special.

Anonymous said...

this is a spell, isn't it, MZ? ~

Brian Miller said...

really nice use of language in this....the use of uterine and the mandala moon....very nice...

Kerry O'Connor said...

Your introductory stanzas have an end of days dystopian feel about them and your last two lines form a striking epigram - a little something to take away with us, from the land of crows.

TALON said...

Just gorgeous! Loved loved loved, Mama Zen.