Jan 302015
Doublecrossed by the terror of birth
Into the troubled thrum of becoming,
Uneaseful in our mirth
When summer's feather moults to winter's bone
And all the cold wonder
Of snow's undoing.

Wrenched upright, awry by our thrown bones--
Uncramped from the comfortable hunch
Inside neutral mother
And stretched to stand in decisive day,
Thrown to thrones in the hissing wheats,
We bleed into seed.

Shambleshanks unpacked on a walk as long as thought,
Our knowing as nothing as nothing else
(Unless such nothing is)--
We hold seed and snow in eye and hand;
In bone and feather breed;  our flight
Tells all and nothing less

Than Christ-crossed oblivion.

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