Saturday, May 15, 2010



Everything here is blind:

white shoots of errant seeds,
transparent fish.
Salamanders thread eyeless sleep.
Embryo arms

reach out without hands;
unfinished dragons clot,
stretch bulbous heads
rowed with unopenable eyes.

A stream runs through me,
clear as absence.
You ask how it can flow,
reflecting no one –

my curtains of stone, where shadow
does not fall, but is;
balconies of dark overlooking dark,
unechoed shell of passages –

Don’t be deceived. I am a slow
hurricane of motion.
Everything lengthens, thickens, fuses.
Drop by drop, I meet myself.

            ~ Oriana


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