A knife which knows its own name
acts in accordance with its nature
& will turn on its wielder in time.
A stubborn seed taken root,
tangled like fingers. Hope
burns like a forest fire.
A mirror, inevitably.
Thin as a thought and
thick as a writ.
A knife which knows its own name
acts in accordance with its nature
& will turn on its wielder in time.
A stubborn seed taken root,
tangled like fingers. Hope
burns like a forest fire.
A mirror, inevitably.
Thin as a thought and
thick as a writ.
For my friend on the occasion of her wedding. What I know of mirrors is their imperfection, their imbalance of mathematics: one reflects one, & we imagine this is wholeness & we believe we know oursel
For my friend on the occasion of his wedding. No eye for art, you said, and turned toward Hunger, livid color leaving you cold, neither keen, nor compelling, not enough, not when you already know how
It is not Death that watches us with suspicion, yet you invoke Her name anyway, make of Her a boundary, make of me an earthen intimacy. There is no revelry in roots no matter how deep they run, only f