Understand, I am only
          ever clawing out the eyes
                   with earth-embedded nails

as a fair exchange for the ability
          to hear a siren so silent, it is often
                   mistaken for newly hatched sparrows.

Upon the rim of the canyon,
          skirting and slipping closer,
                   daring the edge to hold strong

these feet: the vastness is seductive,
          the void, with rivers rushing
                   at the bottom, so far away, and so

quiet. The soul stirs like feathers
          on the wind, or motes on a sunbeam.
                   Newborn that I am, that I will only

ever be, I could jump, wingless,
          and land within the source of life
                   with hardly a cry as it takes

my body. If you think this sacrifice
          is about finality, you did not listen
                   to the gore, the hunger, the flight.

Instead you looked, and searched,
          and hopelessly tried to uncover
                   a lore meant to be remembered

and fatefully forgotten.

 

Placed 2nd in the 2015 Poetry Sans Frontieres "Call of the Wild" Contest.

A Disquieting Understanding of Life

Questions to Ask the Lord or a Sleeping Lover