01.19.2009

Vital signs

Sister,
don’t reduce
yourself. Somewhere
rooms share a pattern.
There are thoughts
there, large
as air.

There are
masses of bright
flowers. And how is it far
if we think it. What
is it that we
know.

The
bitter ease
of profit, simple
terror of the
sea.

A little
flesh, a little
breath in preparation
for a dream. Frame
of bone pulled
hollow,

I wish
what I wished
you before. There’s
not a bird in the world
worth your undying hurt
and I can’t undo
the future.

Shannon Tharp (© 2009)