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