That She Is

He carries his Sylph
one flight up, further
than his dream had
landscaped, by
seams and stitches,

a creation grows.
Creator, with his silver air
occupant, of matter, of time.

The Sylph snags
arid scaffolding on the way; scolding
brazen bricks, wrapping
sick elapsed silk strands
around
lifeless tower necks.

Her languid limbs stretch,
every catch ripping her
silver lures, bragging
that she is,
that she is!

And he climbs above
architecture; speaks
of the slight
that she is,
that she is!

And he climbs above weight,
above birth,
above death….

silk strands unravel
as he speaks,
of love,
of life,
of broken roads ago

as silk strands go
so do apologies,
and he speaks of milk and water,
white rice,
voids…

that she is,
that she is!
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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21 thoughts on “That She Is

  1. It’s great the way the focus expands and contracts, expands and contracts. A flight of stairs, a landscape; stitches and time; scaffolding & towers; abstract silver lures & something beyond architecture; unravelling silken strands, broken roads & rice. A constant bewitching movement directing the reader’s attention.

      1. You’re welcome. I admit, I don’t always get the subtlest nuances, but if something clicks in then your words create their own spiraling sense of inevitability. Like here. 🙂

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