thresheld

the not and the never

narrows:

he/her

here

hear

the lip of the soon-to-be

yielding

the tendril-speech of

an other-climbing

the ruins and the reconstructions and the time

it takes— a tireless broom

its sweep, a sleep that leaves

a window

ajar

here

the arrived, the season that cannot find

a year to house it

calls for your hands

to seed

something in its patience

the seep of the inconceivable—

this offering

the body never tires of

preparing

                                                       here

miracles that have been memorized

part

the nightmare that rests its ladder in your yard

retires

the nest that loneliness tends in your eave

is abandoned

the rust that has claimed your tools

is alive

the moment that everyday you

take by the arm and help across the street

can see

                 the grin of the land,

the end that is

the gratitude that living extends,

the sustain of yearning that proclaims itself

held

here

hear

(i,you,

we)— the clasp, the day-night linked

keep

of wildwords and touchstones

where the heart folds its map

along the lines that appear in the face that has learned

how to live   

 here

the skin of what is true

never fails

to tremble

its way to heaven.

from Thresheld © Mike Schertzer, 2003