The Room
June 7th, 2007
A door like a mouth
in the skull of a hill,
and above it, two holes in the earth
like eyes.
I didn’t pause, I stepped inside.
My brain rashed –
so I touched the curved walls,
and scratched each expanse,
& my nails gathered clay
in cool heaps.
My eyes pricked –
so I packed the room’s holes
with soil and sod,
clipping light streams dead
like spigots
cut water to drips.
My heart noised –
so I shut the room’s door
and poured full the dark
with language so dense
that it buried the blare
I’d entered with.
My thoughts seared –
so I dug down after cold
in hill-bones,
and wombed there, a bug,
and am wombing there still,
until chrysalis
or fossil.
