Friday, March 30, 2012

068: Natural blue

deconstruct themselves,
then sew their
scattered limbs
back together,
like Bellmer dolls.
Through the seams,
a gale of gold
tearing away
the grey
from rainsoaked walls.
I watch
the tracers rip in triumph,
the rain of fire,
in filaments
from behind deep
shadow bodies.
The twin arcs
a wolf's caress,
loving and harsh,
that rolls through my cave,
to dive open
a well of joy.