Catalyst

P1800179

As if disintegrating the stone of our being to sand

we pour ourselves empty to be remade beyond

the merciless sins we rise above.

 

The beauty of your breast now cleaved away,

my lungs always stomping their sun-flare dance against harm,

yet we reshape ourselves for one another as balm

till we can bear our stories’ terrible weight

 

till we are transformed as if sound—

water on granite, wind through pine,

an osprey’s haunting cry—

you and I as salt and sea and sky.

 

 

Thank you to the editors of The Tishman Review for first publishing this poem.

 

wpc

2 thoughts on “Catalyst”

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